


The Masters: Death of the Dragon Warrior

by kongu2910



Series: The Masters [1]
Category: Kung Fu Panda - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Heavily inspired by Watchmen, References to sexual violence, So take that for what you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kongu2910/pseuds/kongu2910
Summary: The Liuyumen Valley Masters have been retired for over ten years. But the death of one of the most prominent Masters threatens to bring them back into the world they left behind.





	1. 2:00 PM

_Journal of Master Tigress_  
_1976-05-4_  
 _Year of the Dragon_

_ 2:00 PM _

_Smog swept through the streets today. Face-masks did nothing, people still coughed and choked as they walked. Saw a child struggling to breathe through the poison._

_This city has become hell. The streets are valleys of toxins, and in those toxins are pus, blood and cancer. The factories are not places of work, but workshops of the condemned who work until their fur falls out, their skin bloats and their hands bleed. Politicians do nothing. And why would they? Their pockets are lined with yuan earned not by their efforts, but those of the poor and the sickly._

_This country is full of them. Men who speak for ideals they don’t believe in, taking in notes behind the backs of the people, all to push forward their own agenda. They are building a cloud of filth, a cloud of blood and greed and the poisons of the West. It is building now, settling on the district, the city, and all of China. They will understand too late what they had created, what they had fostered, and when they do, they will look up to me and beg for my help._

_And they will not find it._

_Yí would tell me that they have no choice and she is wrong. Of course they had a choice – follow the ideals of men like Master Oogway, like the Russian. Men who believed in the value of the people. The value of community. Instead – and for all their talks against the West – they have chosen the path of industry, the path of greed and the path of capital. They followed the words of businessmen and bankers, wanting to create a future of power and control at the expense of their citizens._

_And now, here we are. China teeters on the brink, threatening to fall apart at the merest comment, the slightest remark. And of all of these charlatans and supposed leaders, not a single one can think of anything to say._


	2. Huang Chen

“Quite a drop, isn’t it?”

Chen, an antelope from Gongmen, looked up from the door chain he was studying to Hóng, who was looking out over the balcony. “It’s not that high. Compared to the high-rises in the centre of the city.”

His rhinoceros partner turned to look at him, his girth filling up the doorway. “Still high enough to crack a guy’s skull open.”

“Hm.” Chen looked around the crime scene again. The place looked like a bomb had gone off in it. Furniture was upturned, the door was kicked in, and the counter looked like it had been attacked by a sledgehammer. It wasn’t like any break-in he’d ever seen.

“What do you think happened?” Hóng asked.

“Hard to tell, from the state of the place.” Chen replied, gesturing around the room. “Probably started with someone busting down this door.” He held up the door chain. “Which would’ve taken at least two guys, or one on some heavy drugs, because the chain was bolted.”

“Which means that Mr. Zhang was home when it happened.” Hóng concluded, pulling a lighter out of one pocket and a packet out of the other.

“Must’ve put up a hellish fight.” Chen continued, looking around at the destruction. “I don’t think there’s a single intact thing in this room.”

“Yeah, or the attackers decided to play with him.” Hóng said, lighting a cig. “I mean, did you see the body?”

“I tried not to.”

“Well, he was a big guy. Not like, strong big, more like soft big.” The stench of the cigarette started to fill the room. “I mean, he was a panda. Those guys aren’t exactly fighters.”

“Maybe.” Chen replied, trying to ignore the smoke smell. “Or maybe one of the attackers brought a sledge with them.”

“Nobody brings a sledge to a burglary.”

“You think this is a robbery gone wrong?” Chen asked, gesturing again around the room. “Wallet’s in his coat over there. Plenty of money. There’s a Buddha over there,” Chen pointed towards a small statuette on a shrine in the corner of the room. “Completely untouched. Somebody had it _out_ for this guy.”

“Yeah… suppose you’re right.” Hóng replied, looking closely at the shrine Chen had pointed out. “Hang on… is this jade?”

Chen shrugged. “You’re looking at it. You tell me.”

“It _is_ jade!” Hóng said in astonishment, picking the statuette and studying it. “I thought you said this is a noodle place?”

“It is. I think Wukong used to come here.”

“Alright, he had to have been doing something shady on the side.” Hóng set the sagely figurine back on the shrine. “No way could he afford something like this.”

“Or it could have been a gift.” Chen rebutted. “Guy could be related to someone higher up.” He checked his watch. “Alright, we’ve been here for an hour. I think we’ve put together everything that we can from this mess.”

“Hmm.” The rhino gave the room a final look-around and then followed Chen outside.

“How do you think he fell over the railing?” Chen asked. “Tripped? Pushed?”

“Not just pushed. It’s a pretty high railing.” Hóng replied. “They would’ve had to lift him over it.”

“Well, that would’ve taken two guys, if the panda was a big as you make him out to be.” Chen mused as they approached the downstairs staircase.

“Two assailants.” Hóng grunted, and a strong whiff of cigarette floated past Chen’s head. “So, we’re looking at a premeditated?”

“Probably.” Chen said as they walked down. He frowned in thought. “Although, the people we spoke to said he was well-liked around here. Who would want to kill him?”

“Fair point. Maybe it was somebody on something bad, looking for a fight?”

“I think it’s more likely that this guy was indebted to the triad. Perhaps he didn’t pay up to their demands, or couldn’t.” They were on the ground floor now, exiting into the kitchen, then taking a left into the restaurant area. “The triad gets pissed, so they send somebody over there to take him down… it’d explain the mess upstairs, anyhow.”

Hóng made some noncommittal sound in his throat. “The triads aren’t that active nowadays.”

“They could be making a resurgence. You never know these days.” Chen stopped at the door. “We should probably keep this one on a low profile, by the way.”

Hóng raised a brow. “Why? The guy was popular ‘round here, people are going to know. Besides, we’ve talked about cases just as bad as this in public before.”

“Yeah,” Chen muttered as he pushed open the door. “That was before we had to worry about masked lunatics jumping into things.”

It was early morning, so there weren’t many people on the sidewalk, nor were there cars blocking up the roads. Not that there would have been many people anyway. This part of Liuyumen was all faded shop signs, cracked concrete and clumsily sprayed graffiti. They took a left towards the car and Hóng sighed in exasperation behind him.

“You take this kung-fu crap too seriously.” Hóng grumbled as they walked along the sidewalk. “The Five haven’t been active since ’65, and the rest of the Masters are just governors now. They don’t interfere.”

“Screw them. What about Tigress?” Chen asked, turning to stare at his partner right in the eye. “The woman’s a lunatic. She has something like three homicide charges, she’s completely unpredictable, and _this_?” He waved back towards the shop. “Innocent noodle chef, loved by the public? She’ll rip the city apart over this.”

“Yeah, well, there isn’t much we can do about her.” Hóng replied in a slightly annoyed tone. “If there was, Gāng and his boys would have caught her already.”

“We can shut our mouths is what we can do. Lower the chances of her catching on.”

“And what, you’re thinking that you can get everybody else to keep quiet as well?” Hóng challenged. “Thinking that you can get the journalists out of this, keep it from getting on the news? Like it or not, chances are she’ll get wind of this regardless. Not that she’ll make much difference.”

“Hrm.” Chen did up his coat and shoved his hands in his pockets, his spirits lowered. They were at the car now, its white exterior faded and beaten.

“…Liao’s?” Hóng asked as they got in.

“Sure.”

* * *

 

Liao’s Kitchen was a small dim sum restaurant in the middle area between the poorer suburbs and the wealthier ones. Both Chen and Hóng preferred going to it while on shift, as it was close to the station and it was cheap. Chen, as per usual, ordered tofu rolls, while Hóng ordered bean buns.

“Is that woman here again?” Hóng muttered, looking over to one of the frontmost tables.

“Looks like it.” Chen looked in the same direction he did, spying a familiar black overcoat. He took a numbered stand from the order bench. “You know you don’t have to talk to her if we sit near her, right?”

“Don’t care.” Hóng grumbled. “The way she talks… she sounds like she’s a thousand miles away, you know? Like, completely distant.”

“Way to play up the force’s community values, big guy.” Chen muttered. “Fine, we’ll sit over here.”

They took their seats on the opposite side of the room, Hóng dousing his cigarette on his horn. “Wukong’s getting close on the Rú Hui case, by the way.”

“Close to finding her or close to getting a lead?” Chen asked.

“Not sure. He was kinda vague about it.” Hóng shrugged his massive shoulders.

“Of course, he was.” Chen said irritably. “And you wonder why I don’t like the guy.”

“Well, it’s a high-profile case.” Hóng said defensively. “A governor disappears-”

“Warlord.”

“What?”

Chen raised a brow at him. “Come on. She was Master Scorpion. You know what she’s done.”

“Fine. A warlord disappears without a trace, without even the slightest clue to her whereabouts… these sorts of cases, you need to keep certain things under wraps.”

“I don’t see how that means you can’t discuss it with your fellow officers.” Chen folded his arms and leaned back. “It’s bad enough that he won’t tell us the names of his old teammates…”

“Come on, Chen. The guy’s a good cop. The least you could do is give him a chance.”

“Hrm.”

“Well, look, he could help you if you let him.” Hóng told him. “I mean, Wukong used to go Zhang’s noodle place, right?”

Chen glared at his partner. “Hóng, what was the last thing I said about the case? Just as we were leaving the scene?”

“Don’t care.” Hóng waved the complaint aside. “He might have known the guy, you know? He could help you if you asked.”

“I doubt it. I imagine that he’ll evade the question and give me some indirect answer that won’t make sense until I think about it for a straight hour.”

“Come on. One chance. The guy’s fine, you’ll see.”

Chen sighed. The waitress was approaching with his order. “Alright, fine.”


	3. Master Tigress

The moon, otherwise hidden by clouds and buildings, shone a beam of pale blue light upon Zhang’s Noodle-house. If one were to wander past the place in the moonlight, they would have to strain their eyes to see the peeling green paint, the paper menu taped upon a sign, and the graffiti-like scratchings upon the glass window.

They would not have to look hard to see the evidence of the tragedy that occurred there, however. Police tape covered the doorway, the ominous ‘do not cross’ phrase plastered over the striped plastic in both English and Mandarin. The footpath in front of the restaurant, while bearing few signs of an impact, had the faint smell of blood rising from the gutter.

One would also easily notice the figure approaching the shop.

The figure, while clearly feminine, had the powerful build of a leopard or lioness that showed despite her long, loose robes. Seemingly styled after the clothes of the Han dynasty, the robes were a faded red and worn under a similarly coloured skirt, tied with a black lash. A pattern of gold vine patterns travelled along the sleeves and down the right of the robe.

She wore gloves, whose size betrayed the strength of her fists, a long-sleeved black shirt, which hid her arms from view, and upon her face was a wooden mask hidden under a rice hat, seemingly glued to a balaclava. The mask was a terrifying sight, crafted in the likeness of a roaring tiger. The fangs looked sharp enough to pierce flesh, and the downward crease to the creature’s brow added ferocity to the handcrafted image. Chips and scratches dominated the mask, and splotches of red were stained into the wood.

The figure stopped in front of the door and looked around it. She looked at the tape.

Her paw flashed out in a sudden arc, then retreated to her side.

She stepped through the door, the severed tape floating aside.

She looked around the dining area, the eyes behind the mask sweeping over the plastic tables and chairs, and the walls plastered with posters of local events. Nothing out of the ordinary, so far.

Zhang Yong, the panda had been called. Noodle chef, well-liked. Why had he been murdered? The triad, perhaps? Questions floated across her mind. Answers would come soon.

She entered the kitchen. Three stoves, one with a pot half-full of some kind of soup. Taking off one of her gloves, the figure dipped a finger into the liquid. It was cold. Lifting up her mask, she brought her finger to her mouth and tasted the broth. Some kind of radish soup, it seemed.

She slipped her paw back into the glove and pulled her mask over her head. The police were many things, but they wouldn’t make a meal in a crime scene. The victim had clearly made it before he died.

A rude interruption as he was making his meal, perhaps? No, there would be evidence of a fight in the kitchen. Perhaps he took his soup upstairs, his murderer following him to attack him while he was distracted. Made sense from what the people had been saying.

She turned right toward the staircase. It was wide, presumably to accommodate the panda’s wide berth. She walked up, noting a television remote sitting at the top, then entered through the doorway on the right.

This was clearly the room where the panda had been murdered. Furniture upturned, door kicked in and held to the wall with only one hinge, and a hole in the dining counter, perhaps created by a sledgehammer.

The door bolt caught the figure’s eye, hanging from its chain. She took it into her hands and studied it. Why would a second-floor door need a bolt? Was the late occupant paranoid about security? Perhaps he had the right to be. Perhaps he had been scared of something.

Whatever the case, it had been ripped off of the doorway. The panda’s murderer had to have been strong. Or perhaps there had been two murderers?

She let the chain fall and studied the coat on the rack to her right. Light brown, wool. She rummaged around in its pockets, finding a wallet, with roughly 300 yuan inside. Odd. A typical criminal would take it

She put the wallet back where she found it and continued scanning the room. There was an upturned bowl in front of the sofa, its contents spilled over the grey carpet. Presumably, this is where the fight started; attacker or attackers kick down the door and the victim jumps up surprised, not noticing his meal fall out of his hands.

She turned around. The remote at the top of the stairs. Had it been thrown by the victim in self-defence? She turned back in front of her. Small bloodstain on the carpet, along with a tooth. A kitchen knife laid nearby, yet there wasn’t a speck of crimson upon it. Perhaps it had been held by the victim. He would have ineptly slashed it at his attackers, only for it to be knocked out of his hands.

The figure looked at the hole in the counter. There was a large bloodstain directly underneath it. She cocked her head. It seemed as if the victim had been hit with the sledge on the counter, smashing him through to the floor. Yet if that was the case, then there would be larger amounts of gore, and his murderers wouldn’t have bothered hauling him over the railing.

She looked around a bit more, her gaze settling on the green statuette at the far end of the room, placed upon a shrine. She approached it and took it into her hands. A Buddha statue made of jade. No mere noodle chef could have afforded this. She inspected it a little closer, eventually recognising it as a gift bestowed by the Jade Palace for exemplary service for the community.

The figure set the statuette back down on the shrine and brought her paw to her chin, thinking.

Panda.

Noodle chef.

Jade Palace.

The figure came to a frightening conclusion.

She looked down at the Buddha, then turned around. Her eyes swept across the room. A door, on the right, next to the television. She approached it and entered.

The bedroom was modest, a double-size bed with plain covers and little decoration, the floor carpeted and grey. She looked around, eyes carefully scanning over everything. If it was him, then the costume would be in here.

She inspected the wardrobe in the corner. Nothing but shirts and a couple of jackets. The chest of drawers. Deodorant, underclothes, miscellaneous items.

She turned to the bed.

She pulled it out, then pushed it aside to inspect the floor that it had hidden. A lot of dust, nothing that indicated anything strange. Except…

She brushed aside some dust. This part of the floor had a large rectangle-shaped incision in it, as if the floor had been cut out and then replaced. Grabbing a tuft of carpet inside the area, she lifted. The floor piece rose easily. Putting it to the side, she inspected what it had been hiding and her fears were realised.

The fake floor had been hiding an old rice hat, not unlike hers, along with a pair of black gloves, a folded white shirt, folded black pants, a steel chestplate modelled after an obese chest and a golden cloak, the taijitu symbol sewed upon it. A black balaclava was placed neatly underneath the gloves

But worst of all, his mask was here, placed upon the cloak next to the rice hat. Designed to fit the lower half of the face, like those Japanese masks, it was modelled after the maw of a dragon, with its maw open like hers, yet its expression was calm and its long, flowing steel whiskers seemed to give the mask some sagely aura.

_Po._

The figure took a deep breath, the enormity of this discovery crashing upon her. She reached down and took out the mask of the Dragon Warrior. Gingerly, she held it in both hands and sighed in despair and loss, falling to both knees. She sat there silently for almost a minute, holding the mask like a widow holding her husband’s memento.

Then her hands started shaking with a nigh-unquenchable anger.


	4. Cong Wen

“Oogway and I were requested to intervene in…” Shifu tapped his staff on a wooden chest of drawers in thought. “Ah, I forget exactly when. Somewhere in late 1937, I believe.”

“By the government?” Asked Wen, a visiting black-necked crane. They were in a small, yet comfortable inn room, where the elder had been staying for almost three days now. Shifu was sitting in a large green armchair, much too big for his diminutive form, while Wen was sitting in a special stool specifically designed for avian creatures. Both of them were seated near an electric heater, humming to itself as it slowly heated the room.

“Indeed.” Shifu nodded at the crane’s deduction. “They didn’t like us, of course. Liuyumen Masters had a certain reputation for being…” The old mammal chuckled. “Uncooperative with government agenda. Yet, we were allied by a common cause. They didn’t want to be conquered by the Japanese any more than we did, and so we had to work together.”

Wen nodded, calmly listening to his old master’s story, even though he had heard it before. He picked up a glass of water with his talons and took a sip.

“It was in Shanghai, or rather, what was left of it.” Shifu continued. “The conflict so far had been bloody and vicious, within what had once been people’s homes. The suits in Beijing had hoped that if we intervened now, then we would halt the Japanese advance.”

“And you did.” Wen said.

“Yes, but not without cost.” Shifu said gravely. “The Japanese had better weaponry than we did, and their bombers kept us on edge. A soldier is easy to defeat, but an aerial foe who could destroy entire buildings with the press of a button? Not even Oogway could win against that. The best we could do was watch the skies with fear, and hope that our reflexes were fast enough.

“Finally, after almost two months, the Japanese land forces retreated, and their Navy decided to try their luck in the Pacific.” Shifu chuckled again. “Much like their allies in the West, the Japanese had been fed a diet of arrogance, told that they were superior to their neighbours in every way. I imagine that they were quite distraught when they found that China had a tortoise who could deflect bullets.”

Wen laughed as well, the image of ten terrified soldiers against a singular old tortoise finding its way into his head. “Yeah… and you did it all without killing a single mammal, didn’t you?”

“Not a single soul.” Shifu said proudly. “Kung-fu was designed to protect and preserve creaturekind, not to destroy it.”

“Yeah…” Wen took another sip of water. “You know, listening to all those old tales about you and Oogway… it’s like listening to a myth, you know?”

“I always thought that about Oogway’s tales.” Shifu said, reaching for a nearby cup of tea. “The things he did across his years… most of it sounds impossible, yet they happened.”

“Yeah, it’s incredible, what he did…”

They sat in silence for a little bit.

“I do wonder what he would made of how it all ended.” Shifu said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. “All those years of training, of evolving kung-fu… all ended with a single sentence.”

Wen’s smile faded. He remembered the sentence he was talking about. He remembered reading it in the paper, mere days after they had defeated Lord Shen.

_‘Beijing demands that the group known as the Furious Five surrender their masks and their identities, else we will have no choice but to instil martial law.’_

“Well… he certainly wouldn’t have been happy.” Wen said sadly, placing down his cup.

“Hm.” Shifu continued looking at the ceiling, his voice bitter. “It would have broken him, I think. To see everything he had built for two-hundred years ripped apart by a ruling class of cowards and criminals.”

“Shifu, please don’t start.” Wen said, almost beggingly.

Shifu looked at Wen with stern stubbornness. “What they did was disgraceful. No different from putting a gun to somebody’s head. I doubt that I’ll ever stop talking about it.”

Shifu wanted to talk about it, but Wen didn’t. It was too difficult for him. His gaze wandered uncomfortably, catching the clock on the wall. “Oh… is it eleven already?”

Shifu turned to the clock too. “Ah. Must’ve lost track of time.”

“I should probably be going now.” Wen said, keeping his tone from sounding hurried, and pushed himself off his stool.

Thankfully, Shifu didn’t pursue the topic. “Yes, of course. My apologies. I must have bored you half to death.”

“Shifu, these visits are the only thing that keep me going nowadays.” Wen assured him as he started to leave. “How long are you staying in Liuyumen again?”

“For another week. I intend on visiting Wukong tomorrow.” Shifu replied, his smile returning. “You want to visit again?”

“I may as well.” Wen said, taking his coat from the coat-rack. “Heavens know we could both use the company.”

“That we do.” Shifu nodded. “It’s been good to see you again, Wen.”

“You too, Shifu.” Wen waved to him as he walked outside. The inn that Shifu was staying at was in the outer suburbs of Liuyumen, with faded posters on the glass windows of the reception area and the outside lights flickering. One thing that had never changed about Shifu – he never afforded himself luxury.

The night-time air was cool tonight, faint breezes flowing through Wen’s feathers as he walked through the city. He could fly, yes, but he was in no hurry to get home, and he wasn’t in the shape he used to be. Besides, it was dark, and no avian took flight when they couldn’t see at least sixty feet in front of them.

The walk was quite pleasant, initially. Nobody else was out at this time of night, and while Wen wasn’t averse to company, he definitely preferred solitude. Yet halfway home, an evening paper flew past him on the wind, and the displayed article caught his eye. Or rather, the picture accompanying it caught his eye.

Wen picked up the paper and walked up to a street lamp, wanting better visibility. He scanned the article frowning. It was about the smog that swept through Liuyumen this morning. The pollution had been particularly strong today, if Wen recalled, and the article was criticising the factory that had produced it. One specific part of the article stuck out to him.

_Mr Chun has also blamed Mayor Zhao Fu for the pollution, claiming that it is the mayor’s responsibility to ‘moderate the actions of Chinese factories and workhouses. There’s no excuse now, not when people’s health is on the line.’_

_Mayor Zhao and Secretary Liu Hao both declined to respond to this claim. The_ Valley Post _, however, managed to get a quote from CPC member and Liuyumen Minister of Commerce Tai Lung._

_‘If you’re looking for people to blame, then you’re looking in the wrong place.’ Mr Lung told the_ Valley Post _. ‘The mayor allows companies to build factories here, but he can’t write legislation for them, or tell them what to do. That’s Beijing’s job.’_

_We asked Mr Lung for a response to Mr Chun’s accusation that he was accepting bribes from the companies to turn a blind eye to their ‘immoral activities’. Mr Lung replied, ‘Why on Earth would I accept a bribe for a field that isn’t my responsibility?_

_‘Mr Chun is a reactionary. He always has been. It’s high time that he does some research of his own before he starts making wild accusations.’_

Wen looked at the assembled pictures. The factory in question, the company’s CEO, a monkey who Wen assumed was Mr Chun… nearby the quote, a portrait picture of a male snow leopard, his jaw neutral, yet some kind of hidden arrogance behind it.

For a second, Wen saw the same snow leopard who had stood over his beaten and paralysed teammates and told him to ‘fly them home’.

Wen let go of the paper, letting it fly away in the wind. He frowned, his mood suddenly dampened. He continued walking.

25 Wugui Road was his home – a small, three-storey apartment complex in the adjacent suburb. A few people lived there, but nobody that Wen was close to. He liked it there – traditional architecture, pleasant atmosphere, none of that constant commotion that came with the inner city. The apartment he lived in, number 305, was nice enough too. It wasn’t too big, nor was it too small. It was nice.

Wen was a few feet away from the stairs before he stopped. He backed up, then looked up at the third storey, about forty feet above ground level.

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. What was he doing? He didn’t need to take the stairs for this. Spreading his wings, he took flight. He ascended rapidly, flying past the first and second floors in seconds, rising over the third-floor railing, then landing gently on the walkway. He tucked in his wings, smiling faintly at the physical activity, and reached his talons into his coat. He took out his keys and made to unlock the door.

He froze.

The door was already ajar, the lock that had been broken from the doorframe hanging forlornly off of it.

Wen looked around. None of his neighbours had noticed, otherwise the police would probably already be here. He gently pushed his door open, trying not to make any noise, and looked inside.

The front door led into the main room, which held a few chairs and the television. The lights were still switched off and nothing seemed to be broken at first glance… but from the left, towards the kitchen, a glimmer of light shone through.

Wen slowly and cautiously approached the kitchen door, in case the burglar was still here. Unconsciously, he found himself moving into the _crane_ stance.

The kitchen door was open slightly. From within, he could hear the sounds of somebody eating.

He pushed the door open with his left wing, his right moving up and curving into an arc above his head.

He lowered his wing in shock.

Sitting in his kitchen was a powerful and feline figure dressed in faded red robes and a faded red skirt. She wore a rice hat, angled to him so that it blocked any view he could get of her face. An awful, yet familiar smell emanated from her – it was the stench of blood and fat, the smell of rotten meat. She was holding something in her hands that he couldn’t see, and she was clearly eating something that she had found in the fridge in front of her, which was still open.

She swallowed.

“Hello Wen.” She said, her voice deprived of any emotion or feeling.

“…Tigress?” Wen whispered in disbelief.

“I got hungry waiting for you, so I had some of your tofu.” She set aside the bowl, a pair of chopsticks resting inside. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Wen opened his mouth, closed it, then stammered, “Uh, no. No, I- I don’t mind at all, um…” He started to approach her. “I- I wasn’t aware-”

“Don’t come any closer.” Tigress said abruptly.

“What-? Oh…” Wen stopped and folded his wings. “You, ah… your mask is off, isn’t it?”

“Mm.” She said in agreement, reaching up and pulling something over her face. She stood up, pushing up her hat onto her head, then turned to him.

Heavens, he had forgotten just how much he hated that mask. The jaws, the eyes, the specks of blood… it was as if he was staring at a maddened monster rather than a person.

“Its, uh, been a long time since… since you visited…” Wen said awkwardly as she moved over to the kitchen bench. “What, um… what are you… doing here?”

“I came here to deliver news.” She said, looking at a bag of sugar cubes. “Bad news.”

“Well, I’m…” Wen said nervously as she opened the bag, not sure whether he should protest or not. “I don’t think… I mean, if it’s something the police should know-”

“Po is dead.”

The abruptness of this caught him off guard. He blinked rapidly, then he asked, “What?”

“I investigated what seemed to be a routine homicide earlier.” She explained, taking a handful of sugar cubes from the bag and shoving them into her robes. “Victim’s name was allegedly Zhang Yong, a noodle chef in west Liuyumen. I found the costume in a secret compartment, hidden under his bed.”

“You… found…?” Wen said faintly.

She pulled something from her robes, something metallic, and put it on the table in front of him. Wen stared at it.

A steel lower-face mask modelled after a dragon, with a calm expression and long, flowing whiskers.

“I’m sorry.” Tigress said quietly, uncharacteristic sorrow in her voice.

A nauseous sense of shock washed over him. His knees buckled, and he made for the chair Tigress had abandoned. “Oh, heavens.” He whispered.

“Oh, _heavens_.” He said again as he collapsed onto the seat.

A very vivid memory forced itself into his mind. It was the memory of a large panda with a round, friendly face, his eyes glowing with awe and his mouth spouting idolization. It was the memory of the first time that Wen and his companions formally met Po, the day that Oogway choose him as the winner of Dragon Warrior Tournament.

Wen’s beak was wavering, on the verge of saying something, but he didn’t know what it was. He wondered whether he was about to start crying.

Tigress said nothing. The mask was as unmoving as ever.

“How did he die?” Wen managed to say, his throat dry and his voice wavering.

“He was attacked in his shop.” Tigress said, the sorrow gone and replaced with the usual tonelessness. “His assailant pushed him over his balcony.”

“Oh, _heavens_.” Wen said again, rubbing his eyes with his wing. “Heavens, he… he didn’t deserve that, he didn’t…”

“No. He didn’t.”

“I mean, it was going to happen.” Wen said, despondence taking over. “It was going to… but… heavens, he didn’t deserve that.”

Tigress cocked her head. “What do you mean, ‘it was going to happen?’ Do you know something?”

“No, no, I just…” Wen folding his wing and trying not to look at her. “I mean… you and Po were the only ones who didn’t retire when… I know that he… he didn’t continue fighting, not with kung-fu, like, he did whistleblowing stuff, I know that… but…”

Wen stopped for a moment, trying to get his thoughts in order. “I mean, you keep at this life for too long…” He tried to explain. “Eventually, you just… you just turn the wrong corner at the wrong time, and… someone just shoots you in the face.”

“Hm.” Tigress looked out the window, opening the blinds. “One way to look at it.”

“I mean, the triad wouldn’t have known him, he wouldn’t have gotten tied up in that.” Wen continued. “It had to have been some thugs, some bad kids, maybe they didn’t know who he was, or…”

“You think a common criminal could kill the Dragon Warrior?” Tigress asked, her voice holding a hint of a challenge.

“Well, what am I supposed to assume?” Wen cried. “That it was one of the other Masters? That our government ordered it? I don’t want to think about that, I- I don’t even want to _consider_ it.”

“You might have to.” Tigress said, angling the blinds shut again. “This was an assassination, not some random killing. Somebody knew who Po was. Somebody wanted him dead. Either for revenge, or… something else.”

Wen looked at her, suddenly feeling angry. “You… understand how paranoid that sounds, right?” He said in a low voice.

“Is that what people mistake deduction for nowadays?” Tigress asked him. When Wen didn’t respond, she continued, “Po was the Dragon Warrior. The greatest Master of kung-fu since Oogway himself.”

“He wasn’t-”

“He learned the Wuxi Finger Hold and the Projectile Redirection Technique simply through _observation_.” Tigress interrupted him. “Men like that aren’t targeted on a whim. They’re targeted because somebody has a plan. A big plan. Possibly one that envelops all of China.”

Wen didn’t say anything for a second. Then, quietly, he asked, “Is that why you’re here, then? To warn me about this… this conspiracy that you’ve hatched?”

“…Not entirely.” Tigress replied. “I believe that you have the right to know of his death. He was your teammate too.”

“…Thanks.” Wen said quietly.

“You’re welcome.” Tigress walked past him toward the door. “I’m going to tell the rest of the Five as well. Wukong might already know, but the others will be in the dark.”

She turned to him, stopping in the doorway. “Be sure to tell Shifu. I understand that he visits you around this time of year, and I doubt he would want to hear the news from me.”

“Alright.” Wen said in the same quiet voice.

“Good.” Tigress was quiet for a moment, then she asked, “Shifu wouldn’t happen to have your costume, would he?”

“What?” Wen looked up, upset and confused. “N-no, why?”

“I looked around your apartment when I arrived.” Tigress explained, turning her back to him. “Skimmed through some of your books and poems as well. Decently written. But I couldn’t find the Master Crane costume. Not in your wardrobe, or any secret compartment.”

“…Must’ve lost it while I was moving house.” Crane muttered.

“Clearly.” Tigress said over her shoulder as she left.

And then she was gone. He heard the door open, and stay there, swinging on its hinges. She had re-entered his life for but a minute, and then left it again, leaving behind nothing but Po’s mask and a busted door.

Wen blinked. He reached up with his wing and wiped something off of his face.

It was a tear.


	5. 7:45 PM

_Journal of Master Tigress_   
_1976-05-5_   
_Year of the Dragon_

_ 7:45 PM _

_Woke up tired. Haven’t slept enough. The noise of the neighbour’s apartment doesn’t help. He seems to shout at his children constantly. I am certain now that his wife left him out of fear for her life._

_The Dragon Warrior died on Monday night. He was attacked in his own apartment and thrown from his balcony. He died under the name Zhang Yong, and nobody else knows of his death. I shall rectify this. As much as I dislike some of my previous teammates, they fought alongside him too. They deserve to know._

_First, though, I will find out who did this. Nobody attacks the greatest warrior in China on a whim. Somebody knew who he was. Somebody ordered his death, either for revenge for to pave the way for a grander plot. Most likely a retired adversary. But who?_

_Multiple theories fly across my mind. There are many old Masters who would want him dead. For the sake of collecting my thoughts, I shall write the major suspects below._

  * _Tai Lung_ _. Obvious choice. Humiliated and defeated by Po through the Wuxi Finger Hold in 1952. Why wouldn’t he want to take his revenge?  
Took to local politics in 1964 after completing his prison sentence. People say that he’s redeemed himself. Would revenge be important enough to him to risk his career? Remember to pay him a visit later._
  * _Lord Shen Jun_ _. Similar motivation to above. Po’s actions sent him to 12 years prison, released late last year. Unlikely culprit. I’ve been watching him since his release. He hasn’t done anything since his release. Still, nothing’s impossible._
  * _Rú Hui_ _, aka Master Scorpion. Defeated by Po and Wukong in 1955. Disappeared over six months ago, presumed dead. Highly unlikely that she would carry out a revenge scheme with such forward planning._
  * _Wu Sisters_ _. Defeated by Wukong, Chao and myself in 1960. Very unlikely, still in prison. Besides, they would be more likely to target their original captors._
  * _Fenghuang_ _. Fought with Po on numerous occasions from 1953-1959. Stopped after Po injured her neck from a miscalculated strike. Has apparently recovered, but lost significant motor skills. Very unlikely._
  * _Fung Lin_ _. Self-declared rival to Po. Only battled once, in 1954. Extremely unlikely._



_It doesn’t make me confident that most of these suspects likely aren’t responsible. Below me, the scum of Liuyumen are conversing and drinking. Perhaps one of them will be able to clarify for me._


	6. Master Tigress

_The Green Lotus_ was one of the many establishments across Liuyumen that Tigress knew to be frequented by criminals. It was a bar, a bar that Tigress had arrived at many times in the past to extract information with fair reliability. She had even interrogated the barkeeper once or twice. She knew his name now.

Her nose wrinkled as she approached. She could smell the cigarette smoke from here, and the chatter of bar was reaching her ears. She could imagine them now; sentient filth, clad in suits and ties bought with bloodied yuan and accursed acts. Still, it would be easier to interrogate these people that it was to interrogate those in the opium dens.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside, the chatter of the bar washing over her. The talk and laughter of men and women of many species, primarily the larger, stronger ones. Rhinos, leopards, crocodiles and wolves… all the ones with a predisposition to bullying those weaker than them.

A couple of wolves noticed her enter and paled, their talk ceasing almost immediately. The patrons next to them turned to see who had just entered, and they stopped talking as well. The ripple of silence spread out from her over everyone until they were all silently staring at her.

She stared back.

Conversation resumed, although this time she could hear that it was hushed, nervous. They were afraid of her. Good.

Tigress made her way to the counter, behind which was a goose clad in faded green clothing. He was staring at her, his wing frozen halfway through cleaning a glass. No doubt he was remembering the last time she visited him.

“T-Tigress, I…” The goose stammered at her. “It’s… good to see you! How… how are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine, Guiying.” She replied, looking directly into his eyes. “You?”

“Oh- oh, yes, I’m fine, fine!” The goose said, forcing out a smile as he placed his glass aside. “Very well, what… what with the current, uhm… current conditions in… ah…”

While the goose rambled, Tigress looked back across the room of scum. Nobody that she recognised as obviously guilty, no triad ringleaders or wanted murders. But there was plenty of guilt in the way that they acted. Arrogant rhinos in expensive suits – purveyors of organised crime, living off of money stolen from hard-working families. Silent wolves in bulky, black clothes – thugs for hire, looking for a new hire. Snow leopards in thin dresses, smiles on their lips – seductresses who gave their bodies to men for leverage and status.

“I see you have a full room here tonight.” Tigress said to the goose, turning to him.

“Oh! Yes!” The goose nodded rapidly. “A lot of people here tonight, a large turnout indeed-”

“Get their attention.” Tigress told him. “I need to ask them some questions.”

The goose’s smile crumbled. His beak wavered and his expression became one of dread.

“Please don’t kill anyone.” He whispered.

“That depends on the answers I receive.” Tigress said. “Get their attention.”

The goose swallowed fearfully, then cleared his throat. “Uh… atten- attention, everyone!” He called out. “Master… Master Tigress wishes to… ask some questions.”

The conversation died again, and all eyes turned to her. Many of them wore faces of fear, some wore faces of hatred. None of them dared to continue with their talk, however.

“On Monday night, a panda known as Zhang Yong was murdered.” Tigress said to the crowd at large. “He was attacked and beaten in the safety of his own home, and when his attacker had tortured him enough, he was pushed off of his balcony. His head struck the pavement, his skull cracked open, and he died within minutes. Somebody knows who did this. Somebody in this room.”

Nobody said anything. They simply looked at her, or tried to look away from her. Tigress suddenly felt frustrated. This was exactly the same response she had gotten at the other places she had visited.

“None of you?” Tigress asked, walking into the crowd. “I find that difficult to believe. Because I’ve visited nine other establishments like this one and I’ve gotten the same response. Somebody has to know something. One of you has to know something.”

One of the rhinos, sitting at a mahjong table and looking away from her, asked, “Who was he?”

“He was a noodle chef. Owned a restaurant called _Zhang’s Noodle-house_ in the western inner-city.”

The rhino turned to look at her, a scar covering his left eye. “You’re wasting your time here. We’re hardly going to put out a contract for a noodle chef.”

“I find that difficult to believe.” Tigress replied.

“Of course you do.” Somebody behind her muttered under their breath. “Crazy bitch.”

Tigress said absolutely nothing.

Then, she slowly turned around and looked at the source of the voice. Two wolves, sitting at a table. The one closest to her was sipping at his drink. The one on the opposite side of the table was looking between his friend and her, his expression one of horror.

Tigress approached the table. The wolf on the other end suddenly stood up, quickly stammering something about going to the toilet, and left. The drinking wolf suddenly froze, slowly setting his drink down as she stopped right next to him.

The wolf looked up at her. She simply stared at him.

“Sorry.” He said, not looking at her. “I, uh… I’ve just had a bit too much to drink, it’s… I didn’t mean noth-”

Tigress suddenly lashed out, her fist striking his jaw and stunning him. His drink tipped over and spilled across the table. As her paw retreated, it grabbed the wolf’s free paw, the one closer to her, and she brought it toward her. Reaching out with her other hand, she took hold of one of his fingers and bent it backwards. The joints snapped sickeningly.

As the wolf yelled in pain, Tigress looked out to the crowd. “I have broken this man’s index finger.” She said over the screams. “Who killed Zhang Yong?”

Nobody replied. Nobody said a word. Their faces betrayed fear, and Tigress grew angry.

She reached out and bent back the next finger, eliciting more cries of pain from the wolf. “I have broken this man’s forefinger.” Tigress added. “Who killed Zhang Yong?”

“Look, we don’t know, okay? We don’t know.” A nearby crocodile said, looking at the scene with an uncomfortable expression. “Just… jeez, leave the poor guy alone, will ya?”

Tigress looked around the room of filth, then at the wolf she had by the hand, trying pathetically to free himself. She felt furious. What made them think that this creature was worth taking pity on? What made them think that this thing was somehow more important than the innocents they had exploited and murdered?

“…Hrm.” Tigress let go of the wolf’s paw. She was wasting time. The night was still young, and she still had things she needed to do. The wolf staggered back into the crowd, clutching his paw, and Tigress walked to the exit.

“You fucking _freak_!” She heard the wolf shout behind her, closely followed by the alarmed cries of the other patrons.

She ignored him, walking out the door.


	7. Zhen Yi

The green viper Yí waited patiently outside the bank, a long tight jacket upon her serpentine body and a little metal pendant dangling from her neck. Her gaze wandered all around, down the sidewalk, across the street and then back to the bank doors. It was late, the moon hanging in the sky and the faint crimson glow of the sunset all but gone. Why her father had taken so long for a single bank visit, she had no idea.

Most of the bank employees had already left and gone home, although light still shone through the windows and the glass doors of the building. Her father had left at around seven o’clock, saying that there were some ‘problems’ with his account that he needed to fix. Yí had left around eight, deciding to accompany him home. She had needed the fresh air, anyhow.

Finally, as Yí’s mental clock ticked over to half-past eight, the bank doors gently opened outward, and the figure of her father slithered out. Unlike her, his scales were dark and brown, and his lips held a thin, wiry moustache. He seemed taken aback when he saw her at the bottom of the bank stairs.

“Yí?” He asked uncertainly, his voice aged and concerned. “What are you…?”

“I thought I might help you get home.” Yí replied, smiling warmly at him. “Mother said you were here, and this time of night… it’s kind of dangerous for an old snake.”

Zhen Hao looked down at his daughter, then he chuckled. “It’s no more dangerous for me than it is for you.” He said as he slithered down toward her.

“Please. I can handle myself. Besides,” Yí gestured along her body with her tail. “Nobody’s going to mug someone with no pockets. I don’t even have a handbag.”

“True, true.” Hao nodded. He was carrying a small bag of his own, tied to a collar upon his neck. Carrying things was not easy for snakes, and the products that allowed them to do so only allowed them to carry small, light objects, like bank notes.

“Mother said that you had… bank trouble?” Yí said, tilting her head at him questioningly.

“Hm? Ah, yes. A small problem, nothing to worry about.”

“A small problem that takes two hours to solve?”

She kept her tone as pleasant as possible, curious at best. Her father sighed wearily in response, and said, “Well alright, it wasn’t a small problem. A, ah… transaction error. But it’s fixed now.”

“Are you sure? If it’s a serious problem, then…”

“Very sure. I’d still be in there if it wasn’t.”

“Alright.” Yí said, letting the subject drop. They set off toward home together, the moonlight and street lamps shining their way through the streets.

“So...” Her father said after a while. “How was your day?”

“Uneventful, as always.” Yí sighed. “I didn’t even leave the house today.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with inertia?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being unemployed.”

“I feel that there is. I feel as if I’m living off of you.” Yí said.

“You’re not. We’re simply taking care of you, as we always have.”

“Father, I’m in my forties. I should be the one taking care of _you_.”

“That’s enough.” Hao said sternly. “Fuxi is the one responsible for the direction your life has taken, not you. It has never been your fault to bear.”

Yí frowned uncomfortably, the image of the cobra’s leering face flashing briefly across her vision. “I know… but surely I’m accountable after twenty years of doing nothing?”

Hao frowned at her, then turned back to the roads. “I suppose…”

“I _need_ a job. Even if it’s just something simple and unskilled.”

“Well, you won’t learn anything by asking an old snake who inherited his wealth. Your sisters would have better advice than I.”

“Hm.” Yí said in agreement. “Maybe I could be a secretary, like Juan.”

“You’d find such work much too dull.” Her father replied. “I think a teaching job would suit you better.”

“Teaching?”

“Not academic teaching, of course. Something less formal, dancing, perhaps.” He turned to her and smiled. “Maybe ribbon dancing?”

Yí looked up at her father, smiling back as the idea took hold. “Ribbon-dance teacher… not a bad idea.”

The journey home took a further fifteen or twenty minutes. The two had to catch a train to the northern suburbs where they lived. Their home, a beautiful manor built in traditional styles, was one of the finest homes in Liuyumen, and Yí was always proud to return to it.

Of course, whenever that thought crossed her mind, she always did her best not to let it get to her head. The people in the homes surrounding theirs did not have access to their wealth, and she knew that the families outside the cities still lived in wooden huts. Her family was lucky, nothing more, and there was nothing to be gained from being proud of luck.

The courtyard held a statue of Buddha in its centre, his divine calm overseeing the garden. Perfectly symmetrical, it was beautiful even at this time of night. Yí especially loved it during the summer months, when the plants and flowers were blooming and beautiful. Her mother, Ruo, was standing in the front door, light spilling out and obscuring her silhouette.

“My love.” Hao said, smiling at his wife. “Sorry I was gone so long. There was a-”

“Yes, that’s fine, Hao.” Ruo said quickly, her voice strangely fearful. “There’s something you need to see inside, quickly.”

She beckoned the two inside quickly, Hao’s smile disappearing almost immediately. Concern rising in her heart, Yí asked, “Mother? What’s wrong?”

“You’ll see.” Ruo said. Her fear and anxiety were clear to see now that they were inside. “She just came inside and asked for tea, I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know whether to try and make her leave or call the police, or…”

“The police?” Hao asked. “What do you mean? What…?”

He turned to the right, the question dying on his lips. Yí turned to see what he was looking at.

Standing in front of the dining table, dropping a sugar cube into a cup of tea, was a crimson-clothed figure wearing a rice hat and a tiger mask made out of wood.

“…Tigress?” Yí whispered in shock

“Hello Yí.” Tigress replied, her voice toneless and haunting. “Good to see you again.”

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Hao hissed, his tone alarmed and furious. “Are you trying to get my daughter arrested?”

“Hmph.” Tigress regarded Hao with what seemed like disdain. “Hello, Grandmaster Viper.”

“My name is _Mr Zhen_.” He replied angrily. “Now get out of my house.”

“Father…” Yí started, trying to wrap her head around the situation.

“Can’t.” Tigress said bluntly. “I have to talk with Yí. It’s important.”

“Over my dead body!” Hao snarled. “Out, or I’m calling the police!”

“Father, please!” Yí said desperately. “Please, I…”

“Please what? This _psychopath_ has no business with you, you cannot-”

“I have no intent to bring the police here.” Tigress interrupted him. “I have not been followed, nor have I been seen. Inform the authorities of my visit later if you must, but I need to talk with Yí.”

“Please.” Yí quietly begged to her father. “It’s been so long since I saw her last…”

“You can’t be serious.” Hao said. “She’s insane, you know what she’s done, you…”

“She won’t hurt me. You know that.” Yí smiled at him. “I’ll be fine.”

Hao looked at her. Then he looked at Tigress, her mask betraying nothing.

“…Ten minutes.” He said coldly to her. “Then I’m calling the police.”

“Very well.” Tigress replied. “Yí, could we talk in the training hall? Less chances of being seen by your neighbours.”

“Yes, of course!” Yí said, forcing out a smile. “Yes, it’s just this way.”

As Tigress approached to follow her, tea still in hand, Yí tried to control the surge of emotions that had risen inside her. Confusion, alarm, joy and fear all danced inside her heart, threatening to erupt from her serpentine body. It had been so long since she had seen Tigress, so long since she had spoken to her, that she barely knew what to do. She had no idea how to react.

“It’s so good to see you.” Yí said nervously as she led the way. “It’s been so long, what… what brings you around?”

* * *

 

The training hall that Yí’s father had constructed in his youth, even though it came nowhere near the one in the Jade Palace, was one of the most advanced kung-fu halls in China. Steel rings, only just wide enough for a snake to jump through, hung from the ceiling. Spinning dummies, with blunted iron weapons strapped to the arms, were placed in a zig-zag pattern along the room’s centre. Along the edges were automated, although currently inactive, crossbows that fired rubber projectiles.

Yí looked at it and saw none of it. Tears were welling into her eyes as Tigress’ words started to settle in her head, their meaning slowly being realised.

“…And you’re certain… that it was him?” Yí asked hoarsely.

“The costume was in the bedroom.” Tigress replied quietly.

Yí closed her eyes as the tears started to flow forth. Then she hunched over, and started to sob. She brought the tiny steel crucifix that hung around her neck and brought it to her lips.

She could see him clearly now. His black-and-white fur. His smile. That silly little ‘kee-yah’ he would make before a fight. The memories were flooding back to her now, every single one of them from beginning to end.

The memory of him crashing through a window into the tournament yard, right in front of Master Oogway.

The memory of his beaten, barely conscious form immediately after his disastrous first training session.

The memory of him in costume with his arms folded, proudly watching the police pull Tai Lung into a police van.

The memory of him standing over a bloodied, unconscious cobra, his body shaking with shock and anger.

Eventually, she got control over herself. Her sobs devolved into sniffles, and she wiped her eyes clean with the end of her tail. She looked over to her friend, drinking from her cup of tea. Her mask was pulled up, exposing just her lower face. In the light, Yí could see orange fur, striped with black and white markings.

“Thank you.” Yí whispered. “For telling me. If… if you hadn’t… I wouldn’t…”

“You’re welcome.” Tigress replied, putting her empty tea cup beside her.

“Does… does anybody else know?” Yí asked weakly.

“I told Wen.” Tigress replied, pulling her mask back over her face. “I plan to tell Wukong next, although I suspect he might already know. I understand that he used to frequent the shop.”

“…And Chao?”

Tigress was silent for a second, then she said quietly, “…Not yet.”

“What about Shifu?”

“Wen said that he’d tell Shifu himself. It’s best that way.”

Yí nodded, sniffing again. “Yes. Probably.” Yí squeezed her eyes shut and tried to step a fresh flow of tears. “Heavens… I can’t believe he’s…”

“Po knew the risks.” Tigress said. “We all did.”

“He was supposed to be _retired!_ ” Yí cried. “He wasn’t… supposed to be taking those risks anymore!”

“…Perhaps he wasn’t seeking them. Perhaps they came to him.”

Yí blinked, turning to her friend. “W-what do you mean?”

“I believe that this was a planned murder, possibly committed by one of our old adversaries.” Tigress explained, pushing herself up. “It can’t be random. Not if the Dragon Warrior was targeted.”

“Tigress…”

“There’s a bigger picture here, Yí.” Tigress continued, turning and looking directly at her. “Someone’s planning something. Most possibly a revenge trip. I wanted to warn you, in case you were targeted next.”

Yí wanted to scream at her. To tell her that it was wrong to reduce their friend’s death to some insane conspiracy. To tell her that she was ill, that she wasn’t thinking straight, that she wasn’t herself and hadn’t been herself for a very long time.

Instead, she forced out a smile and said. “I… thanks. I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Good.” Tigress said, turning around. “I should take my leave. Staying for the full ten minutes would likely anger Mr Zhen.”

“Yes, well… at the end there,” Yí said, pointing at the end of the room. “We have a secret door, leading to an old-”

“An abandoned house, two blocks south.” Tigress finished for her. “I remember.”

“Oh yeah, you… we used to meet up here, before patrol.” Yí said as the memory flashed in her head. “Back when we were the Furious Five.”

“Hm.” Tigress started to walk toward the trapdoor. Yí had a sudden flash of panic. She didn’t want Tigress to leave so soon, to leave her life again so easily.

“Do you remember when we defeated the Boar?” Yí said quickly, following her for a bit. “You came here in the middle of the night, like tonight, and-”

“Yes. I remember.” Tigress briefly turned to Yí as she walked away. “I’m the only one who remembers.”

And then she walked away. Yí could only stop and watch, smile fading, as Tigress walked out through the trapdoor, out into the night, and out of Yí’s life.


	8. Jin Wukong

“Look Huang, I don’t know what you want me to say.” Wukong said, sitting at his desk and rubbing his temples. “I barely knew the guy. I just ate at the place.”

The antelope detective standing on the other side of the desk folded his arms. “You sure? You never even spoke to him?”

Wukong shook his head, looking around the office for one of the other two senior detectives who the golden simian shared his workspace with. Sadly, there were absent, and no distraction was found.

“Did you ever see him?” Huang Chen continued, giving Wukong the look of suspicion that he usually gave him. “Behind the counter, or anything?”

“Yeah, a few times.” Wukong replied, trying to conduct some story to get Huang out of his office. “The guy cooked most of the food himself, I think… actually…” He frowned in false concentration. “I remember thinking, the last time I went there, that he looked a bit… I don’t know, distracted?”

Huang raised his brow. “How long ago was this?”

“Ah, something like… five days ago, I want to say…” Wukong shrugged. “But I mean, that’s just what I thought. Could be nothing.” He forced himself to chuckle. “Could have just been rubbish customers, you know?”

“Hm.” Huang didn’t look completely satisfied with the answer, but started to leave regardless. “Alright. If you remember anything…”

“Yep, I know. It’s my job.”

“Oh, uh,” Huang stopped near the door, pointing at him. “Hóng said that you were getting close on the Rú Hui case?”

“Uh, kind of, yeah.”

“What do you mean? What does ‘kind of’ entail?”

“Well, I think I’m close to getting a lead.” Wukong said.

“What kind of lead?”

“Just… a lead.” Wukong said vaguely, leaning back in his chair. “One of her old friends.”

“An old friend? You think they might know something?”

“Well, they could.” Wukong shrugged. “But then, they couldn’t. You know how friends are, sometimes they tell each other stuff, sometimes they don’t. I mean,” He made himself chuckle again. “Obviously, I’m wouldn’t know anything about secrets, you know?”

Huang gave him an annoyed glare, then walked out. “Yeah, alright.” He muttered as he left.

Wukong watched him leave, then let out a sigh. He looked down at the case file marked _Rú Hui_ on his desk, opened it, and began reading again. The document he had left off on before Huang had interrupted was a list of all the people who had worked for Hui under the category of ‘advisory personnel’.

He hadn’t completely lied to Huang. Po had indeed been strangely distracted the last time they had met. It had been fleeting, and when he had asked what had been wrong, Po immediately switched back to his normal self, brushing it off as nothing. But then, that was what he usually did.

Or used to.

Wukong closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, and slowly breathing out. It was still difficult to believe that he was dead. It didn’t seem like so long ago that they were talking and joking to one another, laughing about days long past. Now he was gone. Forever. The idea of that was still difficult to come to terms with.

Wukong opened his eyes again, staring at the case file. He was regretting his decision to insist on continuing this case, because now every time he looked at the folder, he was reminded of the day he and Po tried to bring Scorpion to justice. He remembered breaking into her laboratory, he remembered his mind being addled by the poisons within, and he remembered when he had snapped out of it after the drug-makers had ordered him to attack his friend. The case was already keeping that particular failure at the forefront of his memory already, but now that Po was dead, it all seemed so much more…

…tragic.

He sighed, leaning over the case file and getting back to reading. No sense being morose. He had a job to do, and Po wouldn’t have wanted him to lose motivation because of his death. He had to find her, close this once and for all.

“Doin’ this for you, big guy.” Wukong said under his breath.

* * *

 

The Rú Hui case was officially closed, the chief of police having called off the search just under a month ago. Wukong, of course, didn’t want to accept this, and he had asked to carry on the search independently. The chief had agreed, but it had taken some heavy persuading on Wukong’s part to get him to do it. The idea of one police officer, even if he had once been a kung-fu Master, taking on a case for such an important creature was ridiculous. Eventually, Wukong had gotten him to agree on the grounds that only a fellow Master knew how another Master thought.

Of course, this had made him the object of ridicule. As he was heading out of the office, putting on his jacket and facemask, two officers asked sarcastically how the case was going. As usual, he replied with a smile, told them it was going well, and went on his way. He had never let people like that get him down, and he saw no reason to let it now.

He lived in an apartment complex in the city, a depressing square building built from grey concrete. It was a crowded place, most apartments housing a family of three or four, and each apartment only having three or four rooms. Wukong lived in number 307, on the middle floor, between a family called the Lians and an old woman who lived alone. He didn’t know either particularly well, but they seemed friendly to him, so he was friendly to them.

As he approached his home, Wukong slowed down, frowning to himself. When he was at the door, he looked at it. Then he looked at the windows. Then he tested the door, trying to open it. It was definitely locked.

Yet the lights were on.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside. Cautiously, he looked around. The living room window, on the opposite side of the room, was wide open, cold wind flowing into the room. To the right was the kitchen, his bedroom to the left. Both doors were open, and he could hear sounds coming from the bedroom. Whoever had broken into his home was still here.

Wukong closed the door behind him. He didn’t slam it, but he closed it loudly enough for his would-be burglar to hear.

The sounds from his bedroom stopped.

Wukong slowly walked across the living room, keeping his eyes and ears open. He approached the window and stood in front of it, folding his arms and looking around the frame.

Behind him, he heard footsteps slowly enter the room and approach him.

He reached up and closed the window, peering into its reflection, trying to get a good look at who had broken into his-

Ah.

Wukong stood still for a moment. Then, he reached out and pulled the curtains shut. Tilting his head slightly, he said over his shoulder, “You know, most people would just leave a note at the front door.”

“Apologies.” Replied the monotonous voice of Master Tigress. “I had to talk to you in person.”

“All the same.” Wukong turned to her completely, looking at her. She was wearing exactly the same clothes she had worn all those years ago – red robes, gold vine pattern, wooden tiger mask. “Still wearing that costume, I see.”

“Hm.” She nodded, her arms hanging by her side.

“Yeah.” Wukong nodded. “You know that my boss would want me to arrest you, right?”

“You are more than welcome to try.” Tigress replied, her mask staring at him defiantly.

“Nah.” Wukong shrugged. “I know how that’ll go. I was more suggesting that you tie yourself up or something. I’m not allowed to take pawcuffs home, after all.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” Wukong said. Walking across the room to his coat-rack, he noticed the faint smell of cooked rice coming from the kitchen.

“So, can I help you with anything?” Wukong asked, hanging up his coat. “You want tea, or coffee? Or have you already helped yourself to some?”

“No. I had tea at-”

“I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with helping yourself to my tea or my rice after breaking into my house. That’s what friends do, after all.”

“Wukong-”

“Did you use the jasmine or that Indian stuff?” Wukong asked, smiling at her calmly.

“…I did not know, and I did not care.” Tigress said, her voice holding a tint of anger. “I haven’t come for idle conversation. Po is dead.”

Wukong winced. “…Yeah. I know.”

“Thought you might.” Tigress said, her gaze following Wukong as he walked toward the armchair. “I take it that you saw the body?”

“No, I did not.” Wukong replied, sitting down in the chair. “I heard how he died, and I… didn’t want to see him like that.”

“Hrm.” Tigress folded her arms. “Do the police know who he is?”

“No. No, they do not.”

“Good.” Tigress walked over to a nearby vase. “I understand that you knew who he was.”

Wukong blinked, thrown off slightly. “How did you…?”

“Did he seem different?” Tigress asked him, running a gloved paw across the vase. “Distracted, worried?”

Wukong opened his mouth, closed it, and responded, “…Yeah. Yeah, a bit.”

“Did he tell you anything?”

“No. I asked, of course, but he said that it was nothing.”

Tigress’ paw fell from the vase and hung by her side. “…Of course, he did.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. They were still and silent, caught up in their own reminiscence.

Eventually, Tigress turned around. “I came for another reason, Wukong.”

“Mm-hm.” Wukong didn’t look at her.

“Po’s death has signified something. Somebody’s planning something, possibly-”

“Oh, here we go.” Wukong muttered.

“-a revenge scheme by one of our old enemies.” Tigress continued as if he hadn’t interrupted her. “Either that, or it’s a plan with a wider scope than that, and Po’s death was merely to get him out of the way-”

“Or it could be random.” Wukong suggested. “Po didn’t exactly live in the safest part of town. It could have been some junkies on something bad, rather than… whatever you’re suggesting.”

“You’re saying that Po was killed by some street criminal?” Tigress asked.

“Yep.”

“Ridiculous.” Tigress replied. “Po was the Dragon Warrior, the greatest kung-fu Master of our time. The only type of person who could have killed him would be a fellow Master.”

“Uh-huh.” Wukong thought on how to reply to that for a moment. “…you, uh, seen Wen recently?”

“I have.”

“Does he look like Master Crane to you?”

“…No.” Tigress replied, looking away.

“Well, Po didn’t exactly look like the Dragon Warrior the last time I spoke to him. He would have put up a fight, but he still would have lost against two guys in their prime.” Wukong sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Tigress. You see threats everywhere you look. It helped us back during the early days, but now…”

“All I see are conclusions that anybody could come to.” Tigress replied. “You can’t tell me that it’s random that the man who defeated Lord Shen-”

“Okay, okay, let’s count, alright?” Wukong said, trying his best not to lose his temper. “Let’s count the people who would want to target us! Let’s see, there’re the Wu Sisters,” He started, counting on his fingers. “Who are still in jail, there’s Shen, who you just mentioned, who’s been inactive since he was released-”

“I am aware of the limited number-” Tigress began.

“-there’s Boar, who is _also_ still in prison-”

“-of suspects that I have.”

“-and there’s Fenghuang, who’s still up north with paralysis.” Wukong put his hands down and sat deeper into his chair. “None of them could have killed Po, Tigress.”

“You missed Tai Lung.” Tigress replied.

“Oh, come on.” Wukong said, exasperated. “If Tai wanted revenge, why wait until now?”

“I intend to find out.” Tigress started to walk over to the window. “Doubt me all you will, but this was not random. This was planned, and I will find the one responsible.”

Wukong gave up and leaned back in his chair as she walked past. Tigress wasn’t going to be convinced out of this. “Alright, well… great. Let me know how that goes.”

“Will do.” Tigress opened the window, a gust of cold air flying into the room. “Before I leave, I should mention that I was searching for your costume.”

“My…? Oh, is that why you were in my room?”

“Yes.” Tigress stepped half-in and half-out the window, looking at Wukong. “Strangely enough, I could only find the spare costume. The one with the discoloured robes.”

“Yeah, I had to give the other one to the boys in evidence.” Wukong said casually. “Part of the agreement when I said that I wanted to join the force.”

Tigress stared at him for a few seconds, utterly still.

“I see.” She said.

Then she stepped out of the window and into the street.


	9. 8:30 PM

_Journal of Master Tigress_  
_1976-05-5_  
_Year of the Dragon_

_ 8:30 PM _

_Interrogated multiple bars, proved fruitless. Nobody knows anything. This wasn’t an impersonal assassination. Somebody must’ve visited him in the night to kill him in person. Narrows my list down to Tai Lung and Shen._

_Decided to leave the bottom-dwellers to discuss their opioids and child pornography. Their mental pollution is rubbing off on me. I need to speak to someone of higher etiquette._

_ 9:10 PM _

_Meeting with Yí uneventful, but disappointing. The fasted, most agile kung fu Master in southern China, reduced to a charity case living off her parent’s money and good will. But then, I can’t blame her for that. Not when I acknowledge what she’s been through._

_Wen is in a similar state, but it is worse for him, because he had a choice. He chose to become an overweight shadow of his past self, to write meaningless fantasies about politics and society. His failure is his blame._

_Why are so few of us active, healthy, with sanity still intact? Master Oogway spent his last years dying in a hospital room as cancer devoured his brain. Master Thundering Rhino was shot by a tank in 1965. Master Bison killed himself. Master Croc drowned in 1966. The first Master Viper has no fangs. Shifu sits in his palace, waiting to die._

_The Dragon Warrior is dead._

_Only two more names on my list now. One works for the Liuyumen police force, while the other is a traitor who sits in government-paid luxury. I doubt either of them will take kindly to my visit. Even so, they deserve to know, and they must be warned._

_ 9:55 PM _

_Just talked with Wukong. I don’t care for him. He treats everything like a joke, unable or unwilling to take in its seriousness. He’s always been like this. Don’t know why it’s getting to me now._

_Bing is next, then Tai Lung. I’m not looking forward to either encounter, but it’s necessary. Bing must know, and Master Leopard must be interrogated. If he is the one responsible for Po’s death, then I will be the one to make him pay._


	10. Cong Wen

“…Dead?” Shifu asked faintly.

“…Yeah.” Wen said quietly. He was in Shifu’s apartment, standing in the middle of the living room and trying his best not to look at the old red panda. On the way here, he had rehearsed what he would say in his head, trying to come up with a response to every possible reaction. But now that he was here… his words were lost.

He glanced briefly at Shifu, regretting it instantly. He looked devastated, to put it lightly, his mouth agape and his gaze focused elsewhere. Wen looked away again.

The two stood in silence for a while. Eventually, Shifu looked up and asked weakly, “…How?”

“I…” Wen tried to conjure up a way to tell him gently, to no avail. “Someone… broke into his house, and…”

“Oh…” Shifu groaned and looked away. Wen closed his beak and looked down at the floor. Silence fell upon the two again.

“…How…” Shifu began. “…How did you find… who told you?”

Wen winced, knowing how Shifu was going to take this. “…Tigress told me.”

Shifu bristled. “ _Tigress?_ ”

“She broke into my house, and… told me what happened.” Wen explained. “She, uh… said that she’d tell the others.”

Shifu opened his mouth, closed it, then, shakily, he said, “I… I see.”

Again, silence fell upon the two creatures, the red panda’s face now conflicted. Wen couldn’t even imagine what was going through Shifu’s head. He opened his beak as if to say something, then he closed it, unable to find words.

“…Thank you.” Shifu said quietly. “For telling me. If you hadn’t…”

“I’m sure one of the others would have told you.” Wen told him in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. “Yí, or Chao, Wukong… after Tigress tells them, of course…”

“I,” Shifu said darkly. “Would much rather that they be told by his murderer instead of _her_.”

Wen didn’t say anything.

“…Wen…” Shifu said after a few seconds, looking up at him with distraught eyes. “Would you… leave me be, please?”

“You don’t want me to…?” Wen asked.

“No, no. I… need to be alone.”

Wen looked at Shifu, then nodded. “Alright, but… if you ever need someone to talk to…”

“I know.” Shifu replied.

Wen slowly turned back to the door. As he opened it, he turned around to look at Shifu. The old Master had turned to sit in the armchair. His small form was obscured by the back of the seat, turned away from him and toward the heater.

Then, Wen walked out, quietly closing the door behind him.

* * *

 

Wen spent the rest of the day in solitude. He ate and sat in his home without speaking to anyone else, trying to get his mind sorted out. He attempted to continue drafting his next book, another romance story, but he couldn’t. Words simply failed to spring to his head, and he gave up quickly.

The next day, he went to the place where the academy had been. He didn’t know why. It had been years since he had trained at the place, and it hadn’t even been where he met Po. Logically, there was no reason for him to be here, yet he was.

Just as it had for a very long time, the building that housed the Lee Da academy looked unassuming. The front of the building once housed a generic kung-fu school that taught the arts for well-being and exercise, with students who showed potential taken aside, and personally taught the ancient methods rediscovered by Oogway. Now it was just an empty lot, the interior empty and stripped down. A notice that read ‘CONDEMNED’ overlaid another notice that read ‘FOR LEASE’. Wen had little reason to doubt that the place would be demolished in a year or two.

He didn’t enter through the front. Rather, he walked down an alley to the side, littered with garbage from the adjacent shops. Graffiti covered the walls, most in Mandarin, but Wen saw Vietnamese characters as well. He noted, with some displeasure, that most of the tags in both languages held derogatory and racial slurs.

One message stood out amongst the others. It read, ‘ _China is not America!_ ’

Wen turned around to a poster upon the academy building, depicting a young female wildcat with her clothes removed and her legs widened suggestively. Wincing in discomfort, Wen peeled the poster back a bit, revealing a lock. Awkwardly holding the poster in his beak, his eyes surveyed the street as he reached for the key with his talons, checking to see if anybody was around. Seeing nobody, he pushed the key in, turned it, and then he pushed the hidden door inward.

The secret room of the academy once held a small obstacle course, designed to push the limits of the speed, nimbleness and reflexes of the students. Now, the room was empty. Boxes containing old equipment and weapons were stacked in a corner at the end of the room. The mats that once protected students from impact with the concrete floor were now decayed and wouldn’t protect anything again. Wen looked around, his dejection mounting as his gaze wandered the old room. Again, he wondered why he came here if he knew he wouldn’t like what he would find.

Slowly, Wen walked toward one of the old lockers. Unnamed and unlabelled, its only distinguishing feature was that it was the only locker with a combination lock on it. Reaching out, Wen slowly turned each disc until the number displayed was ‘7-2-7-8’.

The lock clicked open. Wen opened the locker door.

A black cowl looked back at him, lying upon the top shelf of the locker and underneath a rice hat. Below it, silvery, sleeveless robes and dark blue pants hung from a coat hanger, their light forms dangling as if to invite him. To entice him into wearing them again, becoming an avenger again.

Wen stared at the old costume for almost a minute.

Then, he closed the locker door and reset the lock.

He walked to a nearby stool and sat down heavily. Staring into space, he absentmindedly pulled out the steel mask of the Dragon Warrior from his carry bag. Since Tigress had given it to him, he had taken to carrying the thing around with him, looking at it every few hours. Another recent behaviour he had no explanation for. He knew that the mask held no answers. Its empty eyes were merely reminders of what had used to be. And yet…

After staring at the mask miserably for a minute, Wen sighed and put it back. He should be immune to this. This wasn’t the first time a Master had died violently. Master Flying Rhino had been murdered by Shen. Master Swine got decapitated in a car crash. His childhood friend, Mei Ling, had been shot by a minor adversary at a grocery store. He should expect this by now. He knew what happened when someone went down the path of kung-fu.

Wen stood up, and walked out of the training room, his footsteps light, and their echoes faint. He opened the door to the alley and left the academy, locking the door behind him.

The journey home passed in somewhat of a blur. Trapped in his unhappiness as he was, Wen walked the path to his house automatically, the thought of flying home not even considered. When he arrived at the apartments, he couldn’t decide whether the journey had felt like it had taken no time at all, or whether it had felt like an eternity.

He walked up the stairs and to his door, unlocking it and stepping inside. He flipped the light on, looking around his home dejectedly. As he closed the door, he pulled a chair up and angled the back underneath the doorknob. The lock was still broken from when Tigress had visited, and the locksmith wasn’t due to arrive until the end of the week.

Almost as soon as he had put his coat up on the adjacent rack, his phone started ringing. Wen blinked, turning towards the rotary dial on a counter nearby the avian chair. He didn’t usually receive calls, except of course when he was behind on rent. Frowning, he walked toward the phone, picked up the receiver and brought it to his earhole.

“Hello?” He asked.

_“Wen?”_ Replied the feminine voice at the other end.

Wen blinked. “Yí?”

_“Wen!”_ The voice said again, this time with happiness. _“Finally, I’ve been trying to call you all morning!”_

“You have?” Wen said in surprise. “Sorry, I-I was out somewhere, and… it’s been so long, how… how have you been?”

_“Oh, I’ve… I’ve been alright.”_ Yí’s voice replied. _“You know… considering everything.”_

Wen’s suddenly realised how foolish his question had been. Of course she hadn’t been alright. Suddenly, he was afraid that Yí would think that he had somehow forgotten what had happened to her. That she would suddenly demand how he could have forgotten what Fu Xi had done to her.

These fears, of course, proved irrational. Yí quickly repeated the question back to him. _“What about you? How have you been?”_

“Oh, me, I’ve… I’ve been doing okay.” Wen lied. “I mean, I’ve just been writing, and all, uh… not much to talk about, really…”

_“Hm…”_ Yí’s voice replied.

“Yes, um… yes, generally alright…”

_I’m going to tell the rest of the Five as well. Wukong might already know, but the others will be in the dark._

“…Did, um…” Wen said quietly. “…Did Tigress visit you last night?”

_“…Yes.”_

“Oh.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Wen heard the serpent on the other side of the phone take a deep breath.

_“That’s partly why I called you.”_ She said. _“I want to meet up, to talk. Tonight. Can you do that, or…?”_

Wen thought about this. “Uh…”

_“I mean, if you’re busy or you don’t want to, I understand…”_

“No, no, I… yes, let’s do that.” Wen nodded, even though Yí couldn’t see him. “It’d do me a world of good.”

_“Oh, good!”_ Yí’s voice sounded joyful again. _“Okay, so how about… Emperor’s Cookhouse, at nine?”_

“Emperor’s? Bit expensive, isn’t it?”

_“I’ll foot the bill.”_ Yí replied dismissively. _“No sense being wealthy if I can’t share the wealth with my friends.”_

“Alright then, uh… see you at nine, then.”

_“See you then!”_ Yí replied happily. Then, the phone cut off as she hung up.

Wen put the receiver back down, surprised to find himself smiling.


	11. Bing Chao

“Po’s _dead?_ ”

“Hm.” Tigress replied, standing at the end of the desk. “Murdered, more accurately.”

Bing Chao said nothing, his mouth agape in shock. He was a giant mantis, about the size of a fox, one of the very few who lived in the world. A light pattering of rain had begun to hit the windows of his office, their impacts the only sound in the room. Various charts and graphs were posted upon the walls, most of them financial in nature and devoted to ‘Bing Electronics’.

“Oh, jeez _._ ” Chao finally said, his forelegs sagging in despair. “Oh, that’s… _jeez_.”

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. What did he say to that? What could he say? He hadn’t thought about Po in years, let alone spoken to the panda, and now Tigress just shows up to say that he died? How the hell does one react to that?

Chao sighed, putting his glasses back on, and he said, “Who did it?”

“Don’t know.” Tigress replied as she took to sitting on the desk next to him. “I have my theories, but I was hoping that you’d be able to clarify them for me.”

“Me? How would I…?”

“You’re rich. You have access to more information than common people.” Tigress explained, picking up the name plaque next to her. “I imagined that such information would include the status of your enemies. Our enemies.”

“Tigress, I tried to leave that life behind. I haven’t…” Chao trailed off, seeing that she was no longer paying attention. He sighed, and he said, “The people who want Po dead are either sick, dead, or behind bars. You know that.”

“Hrm.”

Chao looked out the window in thought. Scratching his chin with one of his forelegs, he asked, “Where did he live?”

“Inner city, western suburb.” Tigress replied. “Min District.”

“Min District… that’s not exactly a safe place, is it?” Chao said quietly. “Maybe… maybe it was a robbery? Some guys who didn’t know who he was?”

“Wukong and Wen said the same thing. I don’t believe it.” Tigress said bluntly. “He would have fought them off. Any of us can do that, even Wen.” Chao heard her put the plaque back on the desk. “No, I think this was an assassination. Someone’s hunting down Masters.”

Chao looked at her again. She was picking up a see-through plastic box, small holes carved into it and foliage at the bottom. The two ordinary mantises inside froze in alarm.

“What makes you say that?” Chao said wearily, already knowing the answer.

“Because Po was the Dragon Warrior.” Tigress told him. “He was the greatest Master of kung-fu since Oogway. Someone killed him either because they wanted to send the Furious Five a message… or they killed him to prevent him from interfering in a larger plan.”

Chao looked away from her, trying to hide his uncertain expression. “I don’t know, Tigress… conspiracies like that don’t exist in real life. Maybe back in the old days, but now…”

“Nobody attacks the most public and most liked Master for no reason. Even a traitor such as yourself would know that.”

Chao said nothing for a second.

Then, he turned back towards Tigress. She had put the insects down and was starting to get off of the desk.

“I didn’t betray you.” Chao replied quietly. “I retired.”

“Hrm.” Tigress said, turning away from him and toward one of the sales charts.

Chao watched her warily. “…Look, maybe Po let himself go. I mean, I know that he wasn’t in a good place. Like, spiritually. And, you know how he is when…” Chao closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Was. How he _was_ when he was upset. Maybe he put on too many pounds after he retired?”

“No.” Tigress said bluntly, looking intently at the chart before her. “If you had stayed until the end, you would know that Po found peace before he defeated Shen. He overcame the despondence, used that power to save Gongmen. Besides, he never retired.”

Chao blinked. “What? But…”

“He became a whistleblower.” Tigress explained, walking toward a bookshelf, filled with files and law books. “He took on numerous false identities, applied for positions at businesses and factories, armed only with his knowledge of kung-fu and a hidden camera. He exposed secrets, stole files, and disappeared before anyone could discover him. You might know him as ‘Ying Long’.”

Chao raised an eyebrow. “ _Po_ was Ying Long?”

“Indeed. I believe that you are acquainted with people who have had experiences from him?”

“That I am…” Chao said slowly, staring into space in thought. Then, his gaze returned to her. “Alright… that changes things. Maybe he stole from the wrong person. Someone who could figure out who he was and send someone over to… to…” Chao looked away. “…do it.”

“Perhaps.” Tigress replied, picking something from the bookshelf and flipping through the pages. “But that would leave us with the issue of a common criminal killing the Dragon Warrior.”

“I…!” Chao closed his eyes in frustration, then sighed deeply, determined not to let her get to him. “Look… I know you were close to him, but Po wasn’t perfect. Not as a person, not as a warrior. Even if he was Ying Long, he still wouldn’t be in his prime. He wouldn’t have been in a shape to fight back against someone determined enough to kill him.”

“He was uncompromising, Bing.” Tigress said in response. “He pushed on despite adversity, despite fear, despite uncertainty. He never gave up, never surrendered, never changed his ways even when the world was crashing down on him.”

At this point, Tigress closed the book and turned around, holding it up for Chao to see. He recognised it instantly, having spent a good two years of his life writing it. The title read, _The World’s Smallest Warrior: An Autobiography._

“He never let himself be tempted by money and power,” Tigress continued. “Never set up an electronics company by cashing in on his legacy. He never became a capitalist.” Tigress casually tossed the book aside on the floor. “If that’s what you call imperfection, then you can go ahead and call Master Oogway imperfect too.”

Chao just looked at her, his expression as neutral as possible. Then, calmly, he said, “I’m not here because of the money, Tigress.”

“Then why?”

“There were a few reasons.” Chao explained, already knowing that she wouldn’t understand or care. “You were one of them.”

“Don’t like the company of murderers, hm?” Tigress asked, walking toward the back windows. “Then why did you retire in July, rather than June?”

“Fuxi.” Chao said bluntly. “You went out of your way to kill him.”

Tigress stopped at the desk. She turned to him, the tiger mask glaring down at him. Chao stared resolutely back.

“He raped Yí.” Tigress said coldly. “He deserved to die.”

“Doesn’t mean you had to kill him.”

Tigress said nothing for a moment, then she turned away and continued to the window. Chao closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

“I came here to give you a warning.” Tigress said as she opened the window outside, some of the rain falling in. “Just in case someone is hunting us down. Wouldn’t want you to end up as the morgue’s Smallest Warrior.”

Halfway out of the window, she turned to him. Then, in her deathly monotone voice, she said, “But then, there are worse things to end up as. Good night, Bing.”

“Yeah.” Chao said quietly as she stepped out. “You too.”

Once she was gone, Chao let out another sigh. He turned to the plastic box containing the creatures he was descended from, as if to ask them for advice.

Their unintelligent black eyes simply stared back at him.


	12. Tai Lung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Po actually sent Tai Lung to prison for 12 years. I misread my own timeline.

Tai Lung opened the door into the office, his eyes gazing disinterestedly around the room. The bookshelves held leather-bound tomes about various levels of law, the walls held photographs and framed certificates of achievement, none of them holding any interest for him. The Secretary of Liuyumen, a red panda by the name of Lin Hao, sat at his desk at the end of the room in front of a window that looked out onto the city. Currently, he was speaking into a phone and ignoring him.

Tai approached the chair in front of the desk and sat in it, waiting for Lin to finish talking into the phone. He sat down slowly, gingerly resting his right arm on the chair’s arm. A slight twinge of pain buzzed up the arm as he did, a feeling he had long ago gotten accustomed to.

“…Yes, I know. I have a team dealing with it as we speak.” Lin said to the phone, looking away from the large snow leopard in front of him. “Yes… yes. Good. I’ll get back to you with updates. Thank you.”

Lin put the phone down, still not looking at Tai, waiting patiently with a neutral expression on his face. Tai briefly debated in his head whether he should talk first, or wait for Lin to say something, perhaps something that would indicate as to why he was here.

“…Would it kill you to tidy yourself up before entering my office?” Lin muttered, giving Tai a sideways glare.

Tai looked down at his unbuttoned black suit jacket, showing his loose tie, white shirt and visible paunch. Then he looked back up at Lin and said, “Yes, it probably would.”

Lin closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Seeing the man’s annoyance gave Tai some spark of amusement, and he had to hide a smirk.

“You wanted to see me?” Tai asked.

“The mayor wanted to see you.” Lin replied, turning his chair to look directly at him. “Regarding yesterday’s comments to the Valley Post. However, he is currently busy, so I’ve elected to speak to you in his place.”

Tai frowned, trying to recall what happened yesterday. “Yesterday…? Ah, you mean the article about the pollution?”

“Yes.”

Tai leaned back in his chair. “What’s the problem? I shot Chun down, didn’t I? If I hadn’t, people would be blaming us for something we’re not responsible for.”

“You were too open.” Lin said wearily. “About the factories, and the regulations, and all.”

“…Too open?” Tai frowned. “What, is it considered embarrassing to explain how something works now?”

“You made it sound like Beijing was to blame.”

“No, I just said that it was their responsibility. I wasn’t-”

“That isn’t how people would interpret it, and you know it!” Lin suddenly snapped.

Tai looked back at Lin, doing his best to keep his expression neutral. “Well, what was I supposed to do? Lie?”

“You are supposed to _divert the blame_.” Lin said angrily. “Tell them that it’s the responsibility of the factories’ and the manufacturing companies. Not Beijing. _Never_ Beijing.”

Tai moved to fold his arms, then stopped and set his hand back. “Well… I can’t do that. I’m not a liar, never been, never will.”

“And you don’t have to. Just do what the rest of us do. Speak in half-truths, technical truths.”

“That isn’t what we do.” Tai replied. “That’s what Westerners do. _We_ tackle the question, give an answer-”

“Not in this climate. Not with the current-”

“-we believe is true. If I say what you want me to say, my popularity is going to take a nosedive, and I’m not exactly well-liked as it is.”

“Murderers tend to have that quality.”

Tai stiffened and straightened up.

Lin continued to glare at Tai. “Your popularity is irrelevant. Beijing does not care whether or not you are liked, she cares about whether or not you are suitable for this job. And if you are not suitable,” Lin leaned forward in his chair, and his voice dropped to a cold whisper. “If you refuse to work with us… then you will lose this job, and I will find someone else.”

Tai scratched his chin. “The Party won’t like that.”

“The Communists don’t hold nearly as much power as you seem to think they do.” Lin snapped. “You are not here because of them, and you are not protected by them. Your job, your fate, is decided by myself and the mayor. Understand?”

Tai gave Lin a neutral look and shrugged. “Suppose so. Although, I thought I would have been fired long ago if that were the case.”

Lin glared at him, then turned down to the papers at his desk. “Get out of my office.” He said angrily.

Tai was all too eager to comply.

* * *

 

Tai loathed apartment life. He lived in one of those horrible ‘high-rise’ places in the middle of the city. It wasn’t just that his days and nights were spent listening to the entire symphony of Liuyumen traffic, where horns, sirens, engines and trucks all blended together in a hideous cacophony of noise. Nor was it the lack of community that came with the blasted things, with the people in each flat in their own little world without contact with those outside of it.

No, the worst part was feeling like he was trapped. Trapped in a grey room inside a grey building, only let out for a walk and for work during the day before walking straight back in. It reminded him too much of prison.

At least it only reminded him of it.

He pushed the door open into the living room and turned on the light. Dimly registering that he left the window open, he turned into the right hallway, and then left into the kitchen. He needed something to eat. Something that wasn’t the mass-produced crap that people seemed to like nowadays.

A few minutes later, he had a bowl of rice and fried vegetables. Taking a pair of chopsticks out of the drawer, he walked back into the living room, starting to scoop the contents of the bowl into his mouth.

He froze.

Standing in the middle of the living room was a female and feline figure, clothed in red robes patterned with gold vines, a rice hat, and a tiger mask.

“Tai Lung.” Master Tigress said tonelessly.

Tai carefully chewed the food that was already in his mouth, trying not to let her catch onto his fear. He swallowed, then, with false confidence, he asked, “I don’t suppose you’re here to join me for dinner?”

“No.” Tigress replied bluntly.

“…No… I thought not.” Tai said quietly, putting the bowl aside on a nearby bookshelf. He hesitated, then said quietly, “…Are you here to kill me?”

“That depends.” Tigress replied, starting to circle him. “Where were you Thursday night?”

Tai frowned. “I was… insulting the editor of the People’s Post, I believe. Why?”

Tigress stopped at Tai’s left. “A man was killed. Thrown from his balcony onto the road below. He was a panda.”

“…A panda?” Tai asked cautiously, starting to move so as to put the armchair between him and Tigress. “Uh, you mean just _a_ panda, or do you…?”

“It was him.”

The Dragon Warrior. Tai stared at her. “…He’s dead?”

Tigress nodded.

Tai looked away, trying to make sense of the emotions going through his head. “…Oh.”

Then understanding hit him like a fist. He looked back up at Tigress and said, “… _Oh_.”

He straightened his back, glaring at Tigress in the eye. “And I suppose that you’re here to accuse me of killing him, aren’t you?”

“Did you?” Tigress asked.

Tai snorted. “Of course not. I have no reason to.”

“You have plenty of reason.” Tigress replied, walking around the chair toward him. “He took the title of Dragon Warrior, like you were supposed to-”

“A meaningless title.” Tai interjected, standing his ground.

“-read the Dragon Scroll-”

“An overblown piece of trickery.”

“-used the Wuxi Finger Hold on you.” Tigress was in front of him now. She gestured to his bad arm. “You spent twelve years in prison because of him, and he rendered you unable to defend yourself. Why wouldn’t you want to kill him?”

Tai did his best not to show his shame, saying as steadily as he could, “I spent those twelve years reflecting, Tigress. Thinking on what I had done. When I came out, I was a different man. If anything, I owe him.”

“I find that difficult to believe, Tai Lung. If you could forgive the Dragon Warrior, then you would forgive Shifu as well.”

“That’s completely different.” Tai said coldly, getting angry. “Shifu was the reason I wasted over twenty years chasing an illusion. Po was the person who revealed it for what it was.”

“He was also your rival.” Tigress replied. “He was your equal in skill and determination. Defeating him-”

Tai scoffed. “Please. If he didn’t know that Hold, I would’ve wiped the floor with him. You know that. After all, you remember how easily I defeated you.”

Tigress said nothing. Despite the danger of the situation, Tai found himself smirking. “You’re not here because you think I’m responsible, Tigress. If I wanted that panda dead, then I would have killed him in ’64. You’re here because you _want_ me to be responsible.”

Tigress’ fist suddenly flew out and struck him in the wrist. Pain exploded from his hand, his eyes shutting tight and his jaw clenching to prevent a yell from escaping his mouth. He collapsed down to one knee, gripping his hand as a growl of pain slipped through his lips.

“…Hm.” Tigress said, standing over him.

He heard her start to walk away to his right. “You’re off the hook for now. If only because you don’t seem to be capable of killing a street criminal, much less a kung-fu Master. If I find any evidence that you’re connected, though, I will pay you another visit.”

“…Good luck.” Tai muttered. “You won’t find anything.”

“We’ll see.” Tigress responded. “Stay safe, ‘Great Dragon’.”

Tai slowly pushed himself back up as the pain died down to a throbbing state. He opened his eyes and looked around. The window outside was wide open, and Master Tigress was nowhere to be found.

After a minute, he reached over and picked up his lukewarm dinner.


	13. 10:50 PM

_Journal of Master Tigress_   
_1976-05-5_   
_Year of the Dragon_

* * *

 

_ 10:50 PM _

_Meeting with Bing left a bad taste in my mouth. He has betrayed what he once stood for, and has fallen victim to the poisons of the controlling class. Moreover, he didn’t seem as distressed as the others when I told him of Po’s death. Could he be responsible? Ridiculous. He has merely forgotten where he came from._

_Tai Lung is just as bad as all the others, yet I can’t help but derive some small pleasure in seeing him in this fallen state. I still remember the battle at the Thread of Hope. I still remember the paralysis, the broken ribs, the sense of fear I thought I had forgotten. He once gloated over us, mocked us, and now he enjoys the fruits of his sins – a withered arm, and a bloated stomach._

_Yet I have hit a dead end. Tai Lung claims innocence. What now? Shen, I am certain, is in no shape to kill Po. The peacock is decrepit and decaying. But then who did it?_

_I feel like I have reached the end of my tether already, and the night has barely begun. I shall continue my patrol until 2:00, and then I will retire for tonight. With any luck, a solution will present itself._


	14. Jin Wukong

The bar was crowded tonight, Wukong noticed. It had started off with a half-full room about an hour ago, but now it was more or less at full capacity. Wukong guessed that it would soon become too crowded for the tastes of his drinking buddy tonight.

“Have you read the paper today?” Wukong heard him say, and he turned around to Shifu, standing on his stool and studying the evening newspaper.

“Not the evening edition.” Wukong replied. “But the morning paper said that Wolf isn’t exactly happy with the government.”

“He wants the fighting in Taiwan to stop.” Shifu muttered in reply, a glass in his hand. “Just like the other coastal provinces. And of course, the government refused.” Shifu turned the page. “Heaven forbid that they put an end to this pointless conflict.”

“I always forget that stuff is still going on.” Wukong said, taking a sip of his own drink. “Who are the Masters in there, again?”

“White Crocodile, Spider and Dead Bull.”

“Jeez.” Wukong winced. “Small wonder the war’s still going on. They’re probably enjoying it.”

“There’s another Master, except he’s with the Nationalists.” Shifu explained. “I don’t know who he is, but he's been stopping them from gaining a foothold. Not that it matters.” Shifu added bitterly. “The government won’t stop until they control all of China.”

Wukong shrugged. “Wars can’t go on forever.” He said. “Eventually, one side wins or both sides quit. The alternative isn’t sustainable, and they know it.”

“It’s hardly war.” Shifu took another drink. “It’s a stone-throwing competition between two virtually identical groups, and… and one of the groups throws boulders instead of stones…” Shifu shook his head.

Wukong frowned at Shifu. “They’re not exactly identical if one of them is Communist.”

“Stalin was Communist. And I’ll have you know now that things were no better in places like… I don’t know, but… where the Nationalists controlled things, little changed when the CPC took control. They’re the same. No better than each other.”

Wukong wasn’t sure about that. But then, he reflected, he had never looked too deeply into the civil war. He couldn’t judge with confidence.

“There’s more on this page.” Shifu continued. “Master Elephant is also behind Wolf. He’s much closer to Taiwan, of course, and he’s on speaking terms with the three psychopaths. A meeting almost came to blows, apparently.” Shifu leaned back and sighed angrily. “It’s ridiculous. The moment we went public, we started fighting amongst ourselves.”

“Things weren’t much better before Gongmen.” Wukong said.

“I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about before!” Shifu snapped. “When the government started getting involved, started taking control! Before then, we acted according to tradition, rather than greed, its…!”

“Alright, alright.” Wukong intervened. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“…That I have.” Shifu peered at his empty glass and set aside with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated with… well, everything.”

“Can’t say I blame you.” Wukong replied. “Coming here to have a break, to reminisce… and you learn that Po’s dead.”

“…Yes.” Shifu said in a small voice. “On top of everything else.”

“That’s why I thought we should meet up here.” Wukong gestured around. “When you’re at home, you don’t have anything to distract yourself from it, you know? You just sit there, and you can’t help but mope. In a public place like this, though, there’s stuff going on around you that keeps you occupied, stops you from feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Hence the alcohol.”

“Well, in my defence, I didn’t expect you to drink this much.”

Shifu chuckled humourlessly. “I appreciate the intent, Wukong. But I think that your choice of location could use some work.”

“Yeah…”

The two sat in silence for a while as the noise of the bar buzzed around them. In hindsight, it had been a bad idea to take Shifu here, but it was one of the few places that Wukong ate and drank at. He didn’t know many other that were easy for the two of them to get to.

“…Should, uh…” Wukong started. “Should we tell the other Masters about Po? Like, Fox, Wolf, those guys?”

Shifu shook his head. “They won’t care. Wolf might, but he wasn’t close to him like we were. He only met him at that meeting for the… I forget what it was called…”

“I know which one you mean.” Wukong said quietly. That was the meeting where Fu-Xi showed up.

“Do you remember how they didn’t want to press charges?” Shifu asked him, bitterness showing itself on his face again. “Because they didn’t want the image of the Masters to be spoiled?”

“Jeez, yeah.” Wukong said as he recalled that painful memory. “Yeah, that… I think that’s when it kinda died for Po. You know how he got kinda… disheartened, after that?”

“That’s when the dream of the Masters died for many of us.” Shifu responded, turning the pages of his paper. “That’s when our peers showed themselves for what they really were… ah, here we go.”

Wukong looked over to see what Shifu had flipped over to. What greeted him was an image of a large snow leopard in a shabbily-kept suit, his whiskers as straight and sharp as needles.

“This, this is what a Master is.” Shifu said. “Yes, he committed crimes. Horrendous ones. But he admitted fault. He saw his prison sentence to the end, and when he emerged out, he set to work redeeming himself. He joined the Communist Party here, made improvements to commercial practice, made donations to infrastructure improvements, with his own money no less… _This_ is what redemption is.”

“I guess.” Wukong said, trying not to sound discouraging. He was biased against Tai Lung, he’d admit, but Shifu’s belief in his change of heart had always sounded overly hopeful to him. Personally, Wukong thought that Tai did all of those things merely to assuage his own guilt.

Shifu didn’t seem to be fooled. “I know you find it difficult to believe in Tai Lung’s redemption. I do not blame you nor the others for that. But even you must admit that he is the only Master to have done this. Nobody else has taken his path.”

Wukong took a sip of from his glass.

Shifu went back to reading the paper for a minute, then he folded it up and he said with a sigh, “Master Monkey, I do believe that this establishment has become too crowded for my tastes.”

“I was wondering when you’d say that.” Wukong said, waving a bartender over. “And don’t you go calling me Master Monkey in public, lest I get assaulted for autographs.”

Shifu chuckled at that. “You wish.”

Wukong handed the bartender money for the night’s drinks as he said to Shifu, “Don’t suppose you’ll want me to drive you home?”

“That would be preferable. I fancy my chances of getting home slightly better when I’m not inebriated.”

With that, the two men walked out the bar and into a nearby police car, leaving the world of Masters and politics in the bar behind them.


	15. Bing Chao

_“Mr Bing? Mr Tai Lung is here.”_

Chao pressed the intercom button as he scribbled on some reports. “Send him in.”

A moment later, the shabbily-dressed form of Tai Lung stepped into his office. When he saw him, Chao was of course instantly reminded of the Thread of Hope, the battle and the nerve strikes. He couldn’t help but be reminded of that day whenever he saw the leopard. However, whenever those memories stirred up, Chao would put them back down by reminding himself of Tai Lung’s twelve-year prison sentence, his acts for the Communist Party, and his clear desire to redeem himself. Chao couldn’t necessarily forgive him, but he was able to put it aside.

“You’re late.” Chao said bluntly.

“I had some difficulty finding what I wanted.” Tai Lung responded, taking a seat on the other side of the desk and holding up a briefcase. “Filing system is a mess.”

“Don’t you have a secretary to sort through your systems?”

“My ‘secretary’ is the reason my systems are a mess.” Tai Lung muttered angrily. “She’s hopeless. She can’t organise a meeting, I can’t trust her to make phone calls on time… about the only thing she can do is write letters.”

“Sounds frustrating.” Chao said evenly. “You’d best find someone else, or it’ll get to a point where the damage is irreversible.”

Tai Lung snorted. “You’d best wish me luck in that.”

“I know someone.” Chao replied. “Lian Song. She’s not great at writing, but she’s organised, which is mostly what counts. She’s actually looking for a different place to work, as it so happens.”

Tai Lung raised a brow. “Just coincidentally, huh?”

“She’s working for one of my factory managers, Mr Gāng Wei. I believe you’ve met him before.”

“I’ve met a lot of factory managers.”

“Well, she, like most of the secretaries who worked for him before, doesn’t like working for him. She came to me while Gāng was visiting, asked me if I was looking for a new secretary. I wasn’t, but I could suggest to her to give you her resume.” Chao said helpfully.

“…Wouldn’t mind that.” Tai Lung said approvingly. “Of course, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that.” Chao said. “I was pretty surprised to see that you wanted to see me. I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?”

“Not that I know of.” Tai Lung opened up the briefcase. “No, I’m here today because we’re making some amendments to the, uh… I forget what the name of the blasted thing is, but it’s the legislation for acceptable business practice.”

Chao frowned. “And you came to me? Why not discuss this with your colleagues?”

“Because I only know four honest people in this city,” Tai Lung replied bluntly, handing Chao a folder. “And you happen to be one of them.”

Unconvinced, Chao took the folder warily and opened it up. On the surface, it appeared to be the same document that Chao had read and accepted three years ago. A note was attached to the document with a paper clip. Chao took it out.

_Tigress visited me last night,_ it read. _Told me Po Ping was dead._

“Most of it is the same, but there’s going to a change to the part about employee safety.” Tai Lung told him. “We want to put an end to the whole thing where factory workers are getting sick while working. I mean… it’s limited, because most of it is in the realm of the police, but it’s something.”

“…Hm.” Chao flipped through the document, trying to find the relevant section. “Well, I am concerned about that…”

“What do you think?”

Finding the part Tai Lung was talking about, Chao quickly read through it. It seemed to be a minor change, almost not worth talking about. “Well… I’m not sure it’ll do anything, honestly. Most of the problem has to do with factory managers using illegal chemicals, and that’s…”

“Out of my hands, yeah.”

“Although,” Chao picked up a pen and flipped over the note. “I do have a small suggestion for you, if I may…”

On the note, Chao wrote the words, _I know._ Clipping the note back to the document, he handed the folder back to Tai Lung, who gave it a quick scan. Chao watched his face carefully, seeing his eyes flick back up to his for a second.

There was something in his gaze that Chao couldn’t identify. Concern? Understanding? Sadness? Whatever it was, it vanished quickly as Tai Lung said to him, “Not a bad suggestion. I’ll take it to the law-writers back in my office.”

“Glad I could be of help.” Chao told him as he stood up and began to leave. “Oh, and before you leave, I thought you might want to hear some rumours floating around my office. Do you remember that secretary I was talking about earlier, and her boss, Gāng?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I have heard that he’s been paying his workers below minimum.” Chao said casually. “Specifically, the female workers.”

“Is that right?” Tai Lung asked lightly.

“Only rumours, of course, but I thought you might want to know.” Chao said. “Have a good day.”

“And to you.” Tai Lung replied, walking out of the office.

When he was gone, Chao closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter. Couldn't figure out a way to expand this.


	16. Zhen Yi

“I can pay if you want.” Wen offered again.

“Don’t be silly. This place is expensive.” Yí insisted. “Besides, if my father doesn’t want me to be making my own money, then I may as well take advantage of his generosity.” _On a writer’s income, you’d have a heart attack,_ she thought to herself, though she had the tact not to say anything.

She had chosen to wear her blue dress for the dinner. Her red dress was better, and she had considered wearing it, but she had decided in the end that it would be disrespectful, given how recently Po had died. She was glad that she did, because Wen seemed to have a similar idea, in his blue jacket and bowtie. Yí thought he looked like the character from those strange British spy films.

“You sound bitter.” Wen noted.

“No, no. Not bitter. Just frustrated, I suppose.” Yí replied, gesturing a waiter over to their table. “My dad just worries about me too much. He worries so much that he actually told me that he didn’t want me to work, or go back to what we used to do. Yes, cheque please.” She said in response to the waiter’s question.

“Still?” Wen frowned. “I mean… he’s still afraid that someone will…?”

“I know.” Yí sighed, scribbling down her bank details onto the cheque. “I’ve only _just_ managed to whittle down his resistance. Hopefully, I’ll finally be working again by the end of the month.”

“…Are you still afraid that someone might…?”

Yí looked up at the crane, shifting in discomfort. Bless him, he looked genuinely concerned. Yí smiled. “No. I got over that fear a long time ago.”

“Right, of course. Sorry.” Wen shook his head. “I shouldn’t have…”

“Don’t be. It’s perfectly reasonable to ask.” Yí replied. “But don’t worry about me. It has been twenty years, after all.”

Wen chuckled as they stood up, picking up his carry-bag with his talons. “Ah, I always worry about things. I can’t help it. I’d used to put it down to being stressed, but with my current work, I don’t really have that excuse.”

Yí’s smile flickered as they started to leave. “You found the, uh… ‘old days’ stressful?”

“Somewhat. Comes with the line of work.” Wen replied. “I mean, back then I thought it was the right thing to do, but in hindsight… I mean, it was dangerous. Dangerous and illegal.”

“You’re glad you stopped?”

“…Yeah.” Wen nodded, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “I mean, the way that they made us retire, that was wrong. But in a way, they saved our lives. Any longer, and we would’ve killed ourselves.”

“I suppose so.” Yí said, trying not to sound discouraging. Personally, she remembered him being quite happy back in the days of kung-fu.

The Emperor’s Cookhouse held four floors, and they were on the third. They stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the streets, the cool breeze accompanied by the city fumes. Yí considered putting on a facemask, but decided against it. The masks were for travelling, not for when you were in company.

“Do you remember when your mother came to visit?” Yí said suddenly. “Back when you ran that bookshop downtown?”

“God, don’t remind me.” Wen groaned, though his beak curved into a smile. “I still have nightmares about her tirade after she found the costume.”

Yí grinned as the memory of that day became clearer. “Do you remember the way Wukong would drop hints that you were Master Crane when she was in the room?”

Wen laughed. “Yeah, he did! I’d forgotten about that!”

“So had I. I don’t know what made me remember.” Yí laughed as well. “The way you looked at him – I thought you were going to _strangle_ him!”

“I very well would have, if Po hadn’t been there distracting her.” Wen shook his head in mirth. “He’d just say something random or silly to divert her attention, and she’d look so confused! I thought the two were in on it.”

“Oh, they _had_ to be. Po and Wukong did all those kinds of tricks together. Remember when they would put those buckets of water above the door frames?”

“Oh yeah! The ones with…!”

“With the tripwires, yeah!”

Wen laughed hard, harder than he had all night. “I would _always_ trip those things! I could never remember that they were there! Oh, but Shifu never triggered them.”

“Nope. Shifu would always see them.” Yí shook her head, giggling. “They used to do it at least once a week.  Thank goodness they stopped, though. Even I got sick of dripping scales eventually.”

“Hmm…” Wen nodded in agreement.

The mention of Po put a damper on Yí’s mood, as well as Wen’s, it seemed. Yí looked out onto the city and sighed. They stood there in silence for a moment, before Yí asked, “Do you think he’ll know?”

“Who?” Wen asked, blinking out of his thoughts.

“Wukong. Do you he’ll know that Po’s dead?”

Wen opened his beak, then closed it. He sighed, and said quietly. “I think he knew Po’s new identity. And if he didn’t… Tigress would have told him by now.”

“…Yes. You’re right.” Yí sighed again. “…I still can’t really believe it. That he’s dead.”

“No.” Wen’s voice was almost a whisper. “No, it’s… horrible, really.”

“I can’t remember the last thing I said to him.” Yí sain unhappily. “I can’t remember the last time I saw him. You and the others were with him all the way up to Gongmen city, but I… I was gone too quickly. I never got to know him like I know Tigress, or you. I wish I had, now. I wish I had made an effort to.”

She heard Wen rummage about in his carry-bag, mumbling something about it not being her fault. She was only half-listening, though. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

“I only ever heard the stories about Gongmen.” She said, staring out into the distance. “About how he stood down a tank and won. How he caught the shell in his paws and threw it back at them. I never really believed them. That Po wasn’t the Po I knew. But I didn’t know him. Not how you guys knew him. I don’t know how he dealt with Gongmen, what happened when he struck down Fenghuang, I don’t know how would have reacted when…” She took hold of the silver cross around her neck and looked deep into it. “…when I chose God.” She turned to Wen. “He was a Buddhist, wasn’t-”

She stopped.

Wen was holding a steel facemask shaped like a dragon’s maw.

He placed the mask on the railing. “Tigress, uh…” He said quietly, his eyes averted. “…she left it with me. When she… visited.”

“…Oh…” Yí broke as she brushed her tail across the mask. Tears welled and fell from her eyes, the same tears that she had shed the previous morning. She rubbed them off, though they re-sprung when she looked deeper into the mask. The mask that once fitted one of the nicest people Yí had ever known, the mask that would never fit anyone ever again.

“I’ve been carrying it around since.” Wen said, his face miserable. “Don’t know why.”

“Because you’re in mourning.” Yí replied sadly. She wiped her tears away again, and she asked, “When was the last time you spoke to the others?”

“Chao and Wukong?” Wen frowned. “Uh… I mean, I used to meet up with Wukong every so often for tea, but we haven’t done that for… a while now. And I haven’t seen Chao in years.”

“Let’s change that.” Yí said, gaining some measure of control back. “Let’s hold his funeral. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t have anyone to do it for him. We’ll hang the white banner. We’ll watch his burial, and we’ll drink to his memory. If we don’t, we’ll just dig a trench between ourselves.”

Wen didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he said, “I’ll help pay.”

Yí shook her head. “My father has plenty of money. I-”

“No, Yí.” Wen interrupted, seriousness in his voice. “I’ll help you pay for it. I think all four of us should.”

Yí understood. She gave him a wavering smile before turning back toward the city that she loved so much. Tomorrow would be a day of mourning, as would the day after that and the day after that. But come the funeral, she’ll see the others again. She’ll listen to their stories, see the mourning in their faces, and the ties that were currently brittle and stretched would become strong once more. As sad and as undeserved it was, the death of the Dragon Warrior would bring her friends back together.


	17. 1:30 PM

_Journal of Master Tigress_  
_1976-05-5_  
 _Year of the Dragon_

* * *

  _1:30 PM _

_On the tenth of February 1946, the Furious Five were born._

_Our birth was incited by the defeat of The Boar. Our arrival was followed by eighteen years spent seeking justice for the downtrodden and defenceless. In our prime, we met Po Ping, who would become the greatest warrior since Oogway himself._

_One of us writes meaningless poems and fantasies._

_One of us is unemployed, living off her parents._

_One of us is an enforcer of laws that benefit only those with power._

_One of us is a capitalist traitor._

_One of us died on Thursday night when his head skull broke apart on a concrete gutter._

_The Furious Five are dead, and I am the only one who cares._

_Are they right to be dismissive? China is a slurry of gunpowder and kerosene, waiting for the slightest spark, the slightest reason to ignite, and when it does, millions will die in pain and suffering. Why should one death matter in the face of such tragedy?_

_I have asked myself this question many times, each in a different form. The answer is always the same._

_Because I am the Tigress. I protect those who are good, and I hunt those who are evil. I refuse to compromise on this. There is too much horror in this world to be ignored, and I must do what I can to destroy it. No matter how small or big the incident._

_To my right, I hear the shouts of a young male, demanding money from someone unseen._

_I move in, staying true to my word._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we have reached the end of Part 1.
> 
> Thank you guys for all the positive feedback. It's always good to know that I'm not just typing words and throwing them into the ether. Part 2 will come soon. I've already started writing some of the chapters.
> 
> Now, allow me to assuage some fears that may or may not be present - this isn't an exercise in ripping off Watchmen. Not entirely, anyway. The lack of a 'Doctor Manhattan' character probably tipped you guys off, but I won't be replicating the comic point-for-point, because if I did, that'd just be Watchmen in different coloured wallpaper. And that's not what I want. I want something that's still recognisably Kung Fu Panda, something that takes the nuances from both this and Watchmen, not just the broad strokes. So expect deviations from the story of the comic books, both major and minor.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> -kongu2910


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